Turn and Face The Strange
by Furious Dee
Summary: AU inspired by Life on Mars. In the midst of a seemingly unsolvable disappearances case, DI Ianto Jones becomes a victim himself. Thrown back in time, his priorities swiftly turn towards his secretive new colleagues, and their enigmatic leader.
1. Chapter 1

**Turn and Face The Strange**

**Summary: **AU inspired by Life on Mars. In the midst of a seemingly unsolvable disappearances case, DI Ianto Jones becomes a victim himself. Thrown back in time, his priorities swiftly turn towards his secretive new colleagues, and what they are hiding from him.

**Rating: **M

**Genre: **Drama/Sci-Fi

**Warnings: **Swearing, violence, sex later in the story.

**Disclaimer: **Both Torchwood and Life on Mars are owned by the BBC. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Notes: **I'm back! And I have in tow the beginnings of a new AU inspired by the brilliant Life on Mars. Unlike my previous AU, it promises to be far more heavily based around the Torchwood world we know and love, with various twists along the way. I'm also currently working on the first sequel of Jones and Harkness for my Wodewood Universe, and plan to publish it soon. As with Jones and Harkness, I'll be updating Turn and Face The Strange every Sunday.

Special thanks to the awesome **riftintime**, who has been offering absolutely invaluable feedback and advice for this story.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Henry Parker loathed the winter. He tugged his worn grey pea coat more tightly around himself, checking his watch once again as he bustled into the overblown, overpriced electronics shop his damned spoilt brat of a grandson had insisted he receive his birthday present from. He desired some ridiculous novelty telephone, the likes of which Henry himself simply had no time for, but if all his extended family requested from him was a couple of grand a year spent on silly toys, he wasn't going to complain. Not if the other option was actually having to endure their company.

He didn't give a lot of thought to the strain on his debit card as the primped and preened sale assistant plucked it delicately between finger and thumb, while another lovingly gift-wrapped the parcel. He was an old man with too much cash, and he didn't care what his privacy cost.

"Would you like to include a note, sir?" the girl with the bright smile and twinkling green eyes asked him. He envied her aura of youth and vitality, temporarily distracted before he replied with a gruff "no". Snatching up the paper bag and his card, he left the shop as quickly as his arthritic knees would carry him, and didn't breathe again until he was out in the chill air.

"Just you wait a few years, my girl – that pretty smile won't last" he grumbled to himself, juggling with his cargo to retrieve a small brown pill bottle from his inner coat pocket. With slightly shaking hands he tapped out two tablets and prepared to swallow them dry.

Moments later, they lay scattered on the damp ground next to the abandoned shopping bag, and Henry Parker was gone.

* * *

><p>"So, this is the latest one?"<p>

"Yep. Take a look."

Detective Inspector Ianto Jones sighed and scratched absently behind his ear, peering at the sheet of paper in his hand and finding the words temporarily blurred, so stark was the thick black font against bright white. He was momentarily irritated by the fact that somebody had gone to the trouble to print this out on Metropolitan Police Service headed paper – including the slightly pretentious Borough of Bexley subtitle – when he'd asked for the report half an hour ago, but not as irritated as he was by the vagueness of what was upon it. He read the information aloud:

"Henry Parker, sixty-nine years old, retired race horse breeder and trainer. Born in Coventry, settled in South Norwood four years ago with a pair of schnoodles. Partner deceased, son and grandson borderline estranged. CCTV confirms disappearance from Bang & Olufsen of South Colonnade, Canary Wharf, 19:52 last night. Right... no witnesses?"

"'Fraid not. None that'll admit they saw a bloke disappear into thin air, anyway... and what the hell is a schnoodle?"

"Miniature schnauzer crossed with a miniature poodle."

"Oh."

"Rupesh, this tells us approximately sod all about the man."

"It's all we could find! He didn't exactly leave much of an impression on the world..."

Ianto growled through his teeth and slumped back heavily, aware with a slight hint of subversive pleasure that he was crumpling the blazer he had shed over an hour ago. His crisp, diagonally striped tie felt suffocating and his spine ached, but every time a new case following this same pattern occurred, he became increasingly anxious to understand the circumstances. Nearly five months since the first disappearance, they were no closer to unearthing even the most tenuous of clues.

"They're becoming more regular" he muttered, flipping open a manilla file to flick through the other victims of case #456. "Hall, Taufeeq, Spears, Green – all of them a month or more apart. Alice Devlin disappeared only a fortnight after Green, then Alex Hopkins eight days later... four more, and now Parker. All of them gone from within Canary Wharf, or so we think."

"Have we recovered the CCTV for Hall and Spears yet?" Rupesh asked, idly unwrapping a mint and tossing it into his mouth. Ianto watched as the young sergeant opposite him proceeded to shred the remaining paper square with his fingertips, and knew that he himself was guilty of suffering from the same nervous energy ever since this case began. That itching urge to do _something_, but not being sure exactly what. He had never felt so professionally impotent.

"No, but they're still being treated as part of this particular case thanks to the similar circumstances" Ianto replied. "Close living and working proximity to Canary Wharf, families left with absolutely no idea where they could have gone, no criminal convictions or tendencies, and disappearances fitting the time frame."

"Hmm. What's Hartman's stance these days?"

Ianto felt himself visibly bristle at the very name of their Detective Chief Inspector, glancing at Rupesh with his most scathing stare.

"Terrorists" he hissed with a dramatic flourish.

"Oh, what a surprise" Rupesh said, slumping in his chair with a sour expression on his face. "When is it _not_ terrorists in her tiny mind?"

"Once an egotistical scaremonger..." Ianto commented, almost smirking when Rupesh furtively scanned the surrounding area for any trace of the woman in question.

"Anyway" he continued, "the CCTV we _do_ have is still being examined for foul play. Those cameras only take one still every six seconds, and just before each time of disappearance, there's a shapeless glow on the image. It's gone as soon as the victim is."

"A lot can happen in six seconds" Rupesh mused, loudly crunching the remains of his sweet. "Any ideas about who could control CCTV remotely?"

Ianto shook his head, closing the file once more and pinching the bridge of his slender nose. Rupesh leaned further across Ianto's desk and yawned, running a hand through his thick black hair and pouting thoughtfully at the closed file.

"What about... I don't know, human traffickers? Maybe the flash is headlights or something? And they have some way of pausing the cameras, keeping them that way and... or... "

Rupesh was clutching at straws and Ianto could see that he knew it. His colleague had his shoulders hunched as if embarrassed by the very words which were escaping his lips, but Ianto had to give him silent kudos for trying.

"I'm beginning to think this is just way over our heads" he replied, his troubled sky-blue eyes sliding to the nearest window. It was pitch black outside but the lights of London twinkled below his office, almost taunting him. Though he had to unwillingly admit that the place had never felt like home in the way that the overcast expanse of Wales used to, it tempted him now as an escape from a case which was swiftly taking over his life. "We're going to be public enemy number one until we can work something out, but we keep ending up back at square one."

"The end is where we start from" Rupesh said quietly, repeating a sentence that had become something of a motto for Ianto and his team. Ianto could only nod tiredly, roughly scrubbing at his face with both hands. He caught sight of himself in the reflection of his blank and darkened computer screen, and noted with a grimace that the cheap fluorescent bulbs above only accentuated the greyish smudges beneath his eyes and the recent sharpening of his already pronounced cheekbones. He knew he wasn't looking after himself as well as he should; perhaps that in itself was hindering him in making any kind of dent in this damned case.

"Have you actually slept this week, Ianto?" Rupesh asked him, his deep brown gaze laced with concern for his immediate superior. Ianto huffed out a weak laugh, touched by the sentiment whilst knowing that his insomnia would continue until they stumbled upon some kind of lead.

"You sound like Lisa" he sighed, shoving several pens back into his stationary tower.

"Yeah, well, she's worried about you too" Rupesh pointed out, folding his arms defiantly. "Having you both working on the same case... it must be impossible not to take this shit home."

Ianto nodded, unable to deny it. Lisa Hallett was his girlfriend of five years, and a uniformed Inspector working for the same station. It wouldn't be the first time one or both of them had taken the bad times into their own private space, but the impossibility of this particular case was getting to everybody in a new way. Lisa's rank allowed (and required) her to delegate work to the constables and sergeants beneath her, but being as wilfully tenacious as she was, she still maintained a firm grip on many of the trickier cases. Not much was trickier than completely unexplainable disappearances with no pattern in age, sex, ethnicity, or profession; only location. There was nobody to chase, no clues to follow – nothing.

With Lisa out in the field and Ianto at the station digging deep into his criminal investigation training, they didn't cross each other too often at work. But when they both arrived home, they may as well have still been there, because it was all there seemed to be, lately. The job was taking them away from themselves and not leaving many crumbs to savour at the end of the day. They now had so much in common, there was nothing left to talk about.

Deciding with a burst of resistance that he wasn't going to let case #456 or anything else put a distance between himself and his partner, Ianto swiftly pushed himself out of his seat and stretched, moaning when something clicked satisfyingly in his back.

"Off home? It's early for you!" a startled-looking Rupesh said, tentatively getting up and reaching for his own coat. Ianto took a look at his watch – almost eight in the evening – and shrugged on his slightly rumpled jacket.

"I'm feeling the need to remind myself that I have a life outside of this building" he replied, amused to see Rupesh grin with relief.

"Dirty stop-out" he commented, throwing the DI a wink. Ianto chuckled, perhaps for the first time all day, and immediately felt lighter for it.

Sergeant Patanjali made swift his departure with a cheerful wave, leaving Ianto to switch off the lights and stride down towards the exit of the station as he slipped his mobile phone into his trouser pocket. His thoughts turned to Lisa – beautiful Lisa – knowing she would be home by now. He needed to lose himself in her, remember what he fought for every day, and forget about case #456 just for one single night.

_Tonight is just about us_, he told himself. _I won't let it drift._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:** What a great response to chapter one! I'm extremely pleased with all the encouragement, so thank you to everybody who took the time to read/review/favourite. Special thanks as always to **riftintime**for feedback and support. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Having dismissed the old cliché of picking up flowers on the way home as abhorrent (besides which the only ones available would be Tesco's wilting evening blooms), Ianto hoped that a little physical affection would be appreciated far more, and pulled into his flat block's car park whilst firmly shoving the distractions of his career to the back of his mind.

"Lisa! You in?" he called as he slipped through the door, toeing off his shoes and already enjoying the release of being in his own space.

"In the living room, Ianto!" his girlfriend's melodic voice replied, prompting him to join her. Ianto surprised himself with his ability to smile a perfectly natural smile at the sound.

"Hey" he said softly, taking in her appearance on the sofa. She was wearing a tight mint-green vest with worn striped pyjama trousers, the pastel colours a beautiful contrast to her dark skin. Her beaming grin widened on sight of him, revealing white teeth and bright eyes which glittered in the low light.

"Hello gorgeous" she replied, leaning up to him for a quick kiss. Ianto immediately wrapped his arms around her and gently pulled her body upwards until she was kneeling in her seat, sinking into the embrace once the initial surprise had worn off.

"Wow..." Lisa exclaimed with a breathy little laugh. "What was that for?"

Ianto didn't reply with words, instead kissing her again and nudging her full lips apart with his tongue. He felt the familiar and comfortable sensation of arousal unfurl from deep in his stomach, relieved at least that there was nothing wrong with their relationship in _that_ respect. His hands slid lower to the curve of her buttocks and she chuckled, breaking the tension and pulling back for a few deep breaths.

"Good evening to you, too" Lisa purred, her face glowing with reciprocal desire. She ran her hands up Ianto's chest and a breath caught in his throat as she pushed the jacket off his shoulders to pool on the floor.

"How was work, sweetheart? How's the case going?" she murmured in his ear, kissing the hinge of his jaw. Her voice was soft and husky, dark as molasses – the tone she always used to reduce Ianto to liquid – but the words themselves were as offensive to his libido as a bucket of icy water. His head dropped to her shoulder and he groaned.

"I don't want to talk about the case" he mumbled, barely suppressing a childish whine. Lisa's hands stopped moving and he silently begged her not to question him further, but when she pulled back with a frown – the seductive smile long gone – he knew with a flare of annoyance that the evening wasn't going to continue along the pleasurable vein he'd hoped for.

"What's happened? Are there new developments?" she asked in what was unmistakably her Inspector Hallet voice.

"No, just a few scant details about Parker, the latest disappearing act" Ianto sighed, removing his hands from his lover's body entirely. Suddenly, he didn't want to talk, and while he felt a twinge of shame for the fact that the removal of what had seemed like guaranteed stress-relieving sex had him in an immediately short-tempered mood, the rest of him was feeling stubbornly miserable. So much so that it was almost a relief when a poor-quality polyphonic version of the Bond theme emanated from his trouser pocket.

"I have to take this" he said by way of excuse, turning away from Lisa as she collapsed back onto the sofa with a resigned sigh.

"Jones."

"Sorry to disturb you, boss" came Rupesh's voice, "but there's a new disappearance and we finally managed to capture it as it happened. Jonah Bevan, fifteen, Jubilee Place in Canary Wharf less than an hour ago. He was on his way home from a comedy gig, just crossing the footbridge over the West India docks when there was a flare on the camera and he was just... well, _gone_. Same as the footage we recovered for Taufeeq, Green, Devlin, Hopkins, and Parker. They're heavy on CCTV along there, pissed youths near the water and that, and Bevan was easily identified. Still nobody around, though – the rest of the crowd was clever enough to pour into the tube station but the kid decided to walk, the numpty. Anyway, the lads monitoring those cameras called the case line as soon as they saw it, then Mickey rang me. I'm at the station now. What d'you want us to do?"

Ianto thought fast. "Get a copy of the footage secured. It needs to be examined for tampering like the others, as soon as possible. Get forensics in if you have to. I'm going to the scene."

"You sure that's a good idea, boss?"

"If there's _anything_ that might give us a lead as to what the hell is going on at Canary Wharf, this is the time to look. We've never had the chance to examine a scene so close to the disappearance time before."

"Alright, mate. Be careful, yeah?"

"Yep. I'll pop into the station on the way back. Hopefully I'll have something to show for all this by then."

Ianto flicked his mobile closed and fixed on an apologetic smile as he stooped to pick up his now doubly wrinkled jacket.

"I have to run" he explained, guilt making him physically squirm when he realised that he was relieved to abandon the woman he loved in favour of work. The silence was too oppressive when he was this frustrated, and the last thing he wanted was an argument.

"Okay" Lisa responded, flashing him a weak smile. They never needed to question one another when it was obviously about a case. "Will you be back late?"

"I honestly don't know" Ianto replied, leaning over the back of the sofa to kiss Lisa's cheek. "Hopefully not."

Without another glance, Ianto spun on his heel and left the flat, throwing himself into his Audi and hurtling as quickly as possible to his destination. While it was a twenty minute journey by public standards, Ianto managed to shave off a good seven minutes by slamming the detachable lights onto the roof and pressing his foot down harder than he strictly should have when technically, there was no emergency. _Sod it; there's got to be some perks to this job._

Ianto parked his car near to Heron Quays and strolled first around the clubs and restaurants of Jubilee Place, noting the distinct lack of patronage since the police went public with the pattern of disappearances all being linked by this part of London. He puffed out a frosty breath, wishing he knew what he was looking for, and headed towards the footbridge.

His smart shoes clicked dully beneath him, sending an echo out across the almost-silent wharf. The lights which lined the bridge glowed greenish and cast bizarre shadows over the blackened water, brightening the light drizzle that began to fall. Ianto flicked up his jacket collar and chose to ignore the icy droplets as they soaked his hair and dripped down his neck, instead reaching into his pocket for his car keys and clicking on the miniature torch he always kept attached.

He was thoroughly absorbed in his thus-far fruitless search for tracks when every light along the length of the bridge flickered off. Ianto stopped dead, swallowing hard against an intense wave of unease as he straightened up and flashed his own paltry source of light in front of him until a second later, that too was extinguished. For a moment, there was only blackness and the soft patter of rain, before a sudden blinding glow above him sent Ianto stumbling heavily to his knees.

Shielding his eyes he tilted his head upwards, raindrops falling onto his face and into his open mouth. Bewildered and almost blinded, he did all he could think to do – he reached into his pocket and held his ID aloft.

"Detective Inspector Ianto Jones, Metropolitan Police Ser-"

* * *

><p><em>Still don't know what I was waiting for,<em>

_and my time was running wild,_

_a million dead-end streets and_

_every time I thought I'd got it made,_

_it seemed the taste was not so sweet._

_So I turned myself to face me,_

_but I've never caught a glimpse,_

_of how others must see the faker,_

_I'm much too fast to take that test..._

Ianto dared to open his eyes, finding not a cloudy December night sky above him but a pale, misty grey. Lying spread-eagled on his back, disorientation reigned, his single coherent thought being _why can I hear David Bowie_?

When a shadow fell across his face he adjusted the angle of his blurred gaze, and found himself staring up at an attractive brunette in her late twenties, wearing a sunny grin that lit up her large hazel eyes. Something immediately seemed odd about her, and for a long moment, Ianto couldn't work it out.

"How's he doing, WPC Cooper?" a deep voice rang out from an indeterminate direction, powerful and extremely American. That was it – the young woman was wearing a completely outdated police uniform, something specifically made for female officers decades ago. Calling a woman a WPC had been officially obsolete since just before the Millennium, and unofficially long before then. Ianto struggled to focus his thoughts, slowly becoming aware of a throbbing headache.

The woman glanced away from Ianto and nodded at something or someone he couldn't see.

"Coming around, sir" she replied in a thick Welsh accent, far more pronounced than his own. Ianto turned his head and tried to scan his surroundings with somewhat hazy eyesight. He could have been anywhere, but he certainly didn't recognise it; brown and grey architecture surrounded him, several buildings smothered with ugly scaffolding. The only vehicle to be seen was some kind of military-issue Land Rover, and the music he could hear appeared to be flowing from its open windows. It didn't escape his notice that the jeep was in exceptionally good condition, despite the fact that the model had to be ancient.

He experimentally twitched his fingers and, finding he could move them, balled both hands into fists. As he attempted to reawaken his muscles and mindfully ignored the concerned stare of his female overseer, a vast and faded banner caught his eye. It was wrong. Even more wrong than the WPC uniform.

_'Centreplan 70_', the banner screamed. His mind worked remarkably quickly to gather the necessary local knowledge; Centreplan 70 was a huge scheme to redevelop Cardiff city centre in the early 70's, but it fell through in 1973 thanks to the property crash. _So why the hell is there a banner for it in whatever hideous part of the world I've woken up?_

A pair of long, trouser-clad legs blocked his view, forcing Ianto to follow the length of them. Past a long greyish military coat, over a sky-blue shirt, and up past some gleaming epaulettes until his eyes settled on a Hollywood-handsome face – obnoxious grin included.

"Mr. Jones, so glad you could join us" the American drawled, tugging at the knees of his trousers before he crouched. The sudden movement made Ianto cross-eyed as he fought to follow it, and a fresh wave of light-headedness muddled his thoughts yet further. When had he closed his eyes? Were they even closed? He tried to flex his hands again, finding he'd swiftly lost all awareness of his limbs.

"We've been expecting you" that amused voice continued, but to Ianto it was little more than a murmur as he slipped back into blessed unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:** Thanks again for all the marvellous reviews, this week! This story does have rather a slow build-up, but please do keep telling me what you think of it.

Special thanks as ever to **riftintime**.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three <strong>

When Ianto opened his eyes for the second time, he found that his face was pressed into the coarse brownish upholstery of a vastly uncomfortable sofa. His mind throbbed with pain and worked slowly, as if his thoughts were wading through deep water, but after several lengthy moments passed he still couldn't fathom where he was. Careful not to make any quick movements, he pressed his palms into the cushioned seat below him and pushed himself up, blinking until he could focus on his dull surroundings. Just then, he became aware of the low hum of hushed voices.

Ianto stared at a huddled group of four people sitting on or surrounding a single desk several feet away from him, absorbed in conversation. One youngish man with a rodent-esque face wearing a leather jacket with enormous lapels, the WPC who had lingered over Ianto the first time he came to, and two other ladies in reasonably casual dress. As he raised himself up to his feet – slowly, as if wary of a predator – he kept one eye on the foursome whilst he began to slowly examine the room.

It was a large, open-plan office decorated drably and sparsely. Six desks scattered with papers and pencils took up much of the space, highlighted by cheap fluorescent strip lights – three of which weren't working. Two small windows set into one wall let in a tiny amount of nature's grey glow. To the far end of the office sat an extra closed-off section built with wooden walls and a door – a shed, essentially.

As Ianto worked his way around the outside edge of the room, taking in the noticeable lack of computers and the presence of ancient wooden swivel chairs, a snort of laughter rang out, and the other voices fell silent. Ianto stopped in his tracks and waited, breath held. The same sound came again, followed by a giggle, and suddenly the four other inhabitants of the bizarre cesspit Ianto found himself in were laughing uproariously.

"Sorry, sorry, I give up!" the man declared, his accent unmistakably hailing from London.

"He set me off!" a feminine voice cried, presumably belonging to one of the two women Ianto hadn't yet met, as she didn't sound Welsh. He slowly turned to face them, finding each of them spluttering through their fingers.

"Well that lasted nought-point-two seconds!" the olive-skinned woman with thick curls commented, placing her hands on cocked hips. The other two women were clearly attempting to control their mirth, looking slightly guilty, while the man openly chuckled at Ianto's expense.

He merely stared at them, jaw set and motionless until they'd calmed down. Eventually, the man got up off the edge of the desk and strode cockily up to Ianto, extending his hand.

"Sergeant Owen Harper" he announced, flashing a wide grin. Ianto made no attempt to return either gesture, merely frowning down at him instead. As he continued to gaze, Sergeant Harper's smile dropped from his face and he blinked slowly, as if already bored by the meeting.

"These are our very lovely female officers – Cooper, Costello and Sato" he said, vaguely waving a hand at the women behind him as he looked Ianto up and down. "Going to a funeral or something, mate?" he smirked, indicating Ianto's dark outfit.

A strained silence reigned again until Ianto finally felt able to speak.

"What the hell's going on here?" his said quietly, his voice deep and dangerous enough to make Owen step back.

"What do you imagine?" an oddly familiar voice from behind replied, and Ianto spun around to see the chiselled man from earlier leaning against the door frame of the strange little hut. His arms and ankles were crossed, his flirtatious pose and model smile like something out of a menswear catalogue. He was lacking his long coat, taut red braces instead pulling focus to his muscled chest. The position was blatantly designed that way.

Ianto shook his head, deciding immediately that he wasn't going to like him. Tension was swiftly building within him, tightening his shoulders with anger and fear as control seemed to slip away.

"You tell me" he replied, raising his hands and letting them fall before walking towards him with his head held high. "Go on; surprise me. Where the hell am I, and what _decade_ is it supposed to be, because _this_" - his eyes spun wildly, gesturing to the stone-aged office and the total lack of policing equipment - "is a level of freakish backwardness even _I've_ never come across."

The man in blue laughed melodically, irking Ianto further, then leaned in.

"Word in your shell-like, buddy" he murmured, before grabbing Ianto by his tie and dragging him into his makeshift office. Ianto's spine slammed against a shuddering wall before his mind could fully register the shift, and he lashed out, throwing the man's hands off him if only momentarily.

"Big mistake" Ianto growled through clenched teeth, fighting the natural urge to wince when he was only pushed harder against the wall.

"Don't _ever _waltz in here like the cock of the walk and give me lip in front of my own people, understand?" the other man hissed, smile gone, his face so close to Ianto's that he could feel the warmth of his breath. "This is _my_ kingdom."

"And who exactly _are_ you?" Ianto replied with a grunt, hindered by his proximity to the wall when he attempted to turn away.

"Jack Harkness, South Wales Police – your DCI – and it's 1973. Almost dinner time, to be precise."

Ianto instantaneously felt a sickening shudder wrack his body, disbelief and horror warring for supremacy.

"1973" he repeated in a small voice, images flooding his mind – the WPC uniform, Centreplan 70, the jeep, the huge lapels, the lack of gadgetry... but it was _impossible_.

Jack promptly let go of him, allowing him space to slump.

"Detective Inspector Ianto Jones, transferred here from London as of this week" he said aloud, seating himself upon the corner of his desk and plucking a sheet of paper from the top of a large pile. After a quick glance, he handed it to Ianto, who numbly took it. Official transfer papers.

"This is wrong" he said quietly.

"Nope, all on the level" Jack replied, "according to London, you were getting overwhelmed by the pressures of London crime-fighting and they relocated you to your home city for a change of scenery."

Ianto glared at him. He couldn't have made DI at his age in the middle of London if he was prone to becoming _overwhelmed _by pressure. Jack seemed to find his expression amusing. Ianto's dislike of him evolved swiftly into loathing.

"WPC Cooper and I were alerted to your presence down at the dock, and there we found you – lying on the ground, unconscious. Bit early for a drink..."

"I wasn't drinking" Ianto snapped, dropping the sheet of paper as he raised his hands to scrub at his face. Almost every part of his logical Detective Inspector's mind told him that this was wrong, it didn't make sense, it wasn't possible... but for the single thought that acknowledged that it damn well _did_ make sense. He couldn't even begin to imagine how he could wake up in Wales in the early seventies in a way which was horribly, undeniably realistic, if he _wasn't_ somehow in Wales in the early seventies... but since time travel was nothing more than the wet dream of a sci-fi fanatic, there had to be another explanation. A baffling, elusive, terrifying explanation.

Removing his hands from his face and taking a long, gulping breath, he turned back to Jack to find the other man watching him inquisitively.

"Maybe you should call your station, just to make sure everything really is in line" he said, his tone laced with concern in place of obnoxiousness. Ianto glanced at the battered telephone on the Detective Chief Inspector's desk and nodded, not paying attention as Jack got up and left the office. Once the door was closed, Ianto lowered himself into his apparent boss' seat – the leather warm and worn – and picked up the receiver. On closer inspection and much to his chagrin, the device didn't have buttons for the numbers, but an old-fashioned circular dialler.

Unsure of exactly how to use the device, he pushed the dial full circle and was startled when a ringing tone chimed in his ear. His only thought was Lisa; he had to reach Lisa... he needed proof that this wasn't real. Had he been kidnapped? Was this what had happened to the other victims of Canary Wharf? Was he drugged with some kind of hallucinogen, only to find himself in this imaginary world? Were the others here? Perhaps making an active reach towards the outside world, like making a call, could break whatever was happening to him...

"Operator" an overly-cheerful female voice rang in his ear. Ianto started, blinking hard.

"Sorry?" he murmured, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his hand and wishing he was able to iron out the gathering mass of aches which pooled there.

"Operator, can I help you?"

"Uhh... yeah... I want to reach a mobile number" Ianto replied, clearing his throat. "It's, err, it's 07708 361-"

"Is that an international number?" the operator asked, her voice wary and confused. Ianto wanted to growl with frustration, but he restrained himself.

"No, it's not international, I need you to connect me with a _Virgin Mobile _number" he explained, curling his spare hand into a tight fist.

"Don't you start that sexy talk with me, young man" the disembodied voice replied sharply, "I can trace this call!"

The sound of a dead dial tone left Ianto stunned. Panic welled up inside him for the hundredth time since he had opened his eyes and he was forced to swallow down a throatful of bile when he realised just how lost he was. He hated being in any situation which was beyond his control. _A choice between being trapped in a room with ten armed criminals, or in some kind of bizarre alternate seventies universe with a raging migraine? No contest._

He dropped the receiver back onto its cradle, and raised his throbbing head when he heard a timid knock at the door. The WPC – Cooper, he recalled – was smiling at him with sympathy and concern, and surprisingly, he found that he was grateful.

"Hi, DI Jones? The boss says I should give you a quick physical... it's okay; I'm first aid trained" she said softly, lifting a stethoscope and waving it slightly. Ianto nodded, deciding it couldn't do any harm.

"Call me Ianto" he said. The young woman's smile brightened further, and Ianto dredged up the strength strip himself of his jacket and perch himself on the edge of the desk in acceptance of her ministrations.

He watched silently as she checked his heartbeat, took his temperature, and had a quick look at his reflexes. Between activities, she scribbled notes in a small book, and made no further attempt to engage him in conversation, though he was certain that she was longing to.

"What's your name?" he asked, startling her as she glanced up at him with wide doe-eyes.

"WPC Cooper, sir" she replied formally.

"I know, I mean your first name" Ianto patiently replied.

"Oh... Gwen" she said, smiling again as she flipped her notebook closed and shoved the equipment back inside a small polyester wash bag.

"Gwen, in 1973, I wasn't even born – not for another seven years" Ianto said quietly, and Gwen halted. He watched as concern, pity, and – was that guilt? - flashed across her expressive eyes.

"Did you get knocked on the head when you passed out at the docks, Ianto?" she asked slowly, and he let his head fall towards his chest.

"I didn't pass out" he mumbled, "something happened to me in London, 2011, and I woke up in Wales, 1973. I don't even know exactly which _part_ of Wales..."

"Cardiff Bay Police Station, James Street. Jack and I found you in West Bute. Oh, and it's the tenth of May."

"Right."

Gwen shuffled awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do with her hands. "Ianto, you were transferred here from London" she reminded him softly.

Ianto lifted his weary head and peered at her, wishing he could make sense of anything that was happening around him, or even within his own mind. With a tentative but growing certainty, he decided that he needed to break whatever spell had fallen upon him. _This isn't real_ he firmly told himself. The thought didn't truly diminish his sense of panic, but it was the only possibility that wasn't completely ridiculous and would keep him sane. He clung to the potential logic that something had been done to his mind, and hurried to devise a plan which might bring him out of it.

"Hit me" he said suddenly, willing to try anything.

"Excuse me?" Gwen replied, her eyebrows rising beneath her fringe.

"Hit me, please, I-I have a theory. I need a quick shock" Ianto explained, pulling himself to full height and motioning with his hands for her to come closer.

Gwen looked as if she was about to agree for a moment, before she shook her head.

"I don't think that's a good idea" she said, huffing out a nervous laugh. Ianto slumped again, that short burst of energy draining from him as quickly as it had come, and he turned around to face the highly-polished wall. There were rusted drawing pins stuck haphazardly into the wood in various places, some holding up nonsensical notes and worn sepia photographs.

When a blunt pressure slammed into his back, Ianto was thankful for the presence of the short filing cabinet in front of him. He leaned over it, pain radiating from the spot as he gasped for breath, winded by shock.

"I'm so sorry!" Gwen said from behind him, her hands fluttering over his hips. "You said you needed a shock!"

"Perhaps not in the kidney, next time" Ianto gasped out, attempting to breathe slowly through his nose. _Well, that didn't work, but good grief does that woman have some serious power in her arms..._

"What's this, a prostate examination? And I wasn't invited?" Jack's voice teased from the doorway, immediately setting Ianto's teeth on edge. Gwen stepped away from behind him, giving him one last apologetic pat on the back.

"Get your jacket on, DI Jones – you're coming with me" Jack announced, his blazing grin in place when Ianto turned around and forced himself to straighten up.

"Where?" he asked, appreciatively accepting his blazer from Gwen, who mimed 'sorry' one last time.

"I'm going to throw you in at the deep end and show you what policing is really about" Jack replied with a loathsome wink.

Unable to do anything else, Ianto followed him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes:** Again, great set of reviews this week! Thanks so much. I know it's a slow-burning story, but I'm hoping it's worth all the build-up. The feedback is hugely appreciated. On with the show...

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

Ianto struggled to be surprised when 'proper policing' turned out to be a trip to the pub. A particularly grotty, hole-in-the-wall pub, unnoticeable unless it was explicitly pointed out. It was also deserted but for a young, slight, red-headed man behind the bar, who smiled broadly on sight of Jack.

"Captain!" he greeted him cheerfully. Confused, Ianto glanced at Jack, noting a momentary frown before the other man's expression cleared into a cheeky smile.

"Just a nickname" he told Ianto.

"Hmm. I bet" Ianto muttered to himself, following Jack to the bar. The dark wood was stained and scarred, and slightly sticky when he dared to touch it.

"Ianto Jones, this is Adam Smith" Jack announced, waving his hand vaguely between the two men.

"So which part of my subconscious do you hail from?" Ianto asked dryly, sliding onto a high bar stool and allowing his normally perfect posture to wane as he slumped, resigned.

The barman stared at him for a long moment, before starting to laugh.

"I like you" he said, waggling the tea towel in his hand. "I like you."

"The usual please, Adam" Jack said, and the young man sprung into action. Moments later, he returned with a glass full of clear liquid. It could have been half a pint of gin, for all Ianto knew.

"And for you, my friend?"

"Black coffee" Ianto replied, running his hands through his hair and grimacing at the feel of natural grease beginning to develop. He raised his head when no response was forthcoming, only to find Adam frowning and Jack smirking.

"This is a _pub_, not a café, mate" Adam said slowly, as if speaking to a child.

Ianto let his hands fall heavily onto the bar, half-hoping that the sharp impact of his knuckles against hard wood might alter this madness.

"Half a bitter then" he said dully. He took a sip of his beverage when it was gingerly placed in front of him, noting its cheap tar-like quality.

"I get the impression you're not so happy to be here" Jack murmured in his ear. Ianto tried to glare, but it was too much effort.

"No shit" he replied, disturbed again by how horribly real this all felt. The unsavoury calendar behind the bar, the sharp scents of alcohol and urine, the quiet melody of a song he was sure he'd never even heard before. Aside from the two of them, the pub was empty. Apparently his mind was too weary to conjure up any new characters besides Adam.

"I'm not even meant to _be_ here."

"How d'you figure?"

Ianto closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. "Ever felt trapped in the wrong place? Everything's wrong, out of date, drab, slowed down..."

"Yeah, I've been to North Wales" Jack chuckled, taking a surprisingly delicate sip of his own drink.

"I don't expect you to understand."

Ianto could feel Jack's eyes on him, and fought against the urge to squirm in discomfort. One thing he did understand about this place – he was never going to like this person calling himself his DCI. The man unnerved and irritated him, yet they'd known each other for less than an hour. Ianto always stuck by his instincts, and his instincts told him that Jack Harkness was not to be trusted.

"So try me" the man replied, and Ianto lost his patience.

"Why? So you can take the piss? You're just a cocky thug who crawled out of some squalid pit in the back of my mind" he snapped without taking a breath. He drained his unpleasant drink and stood up, narrowing his eyes at Jack who had the gall to look faux-wounded.

"Give my regards to the id, Jack."

Ianto stepped out onto the pavement and took a deep breath. He hadn't paid much attention to the area surrounding the pub on their way in, but now, he could see every bizarrely minute detail. The pedestrians were sparse, but they strolled about living their lives, wearing their woollen cardigans as befitted a Welsh spring. An old record shop sat on the corner of the opposite street, a bakery next to it, then a clothing shop, then a bank, then a-

"Ianto?"

Gwen's steadying hand stopped him from stumbling into the road with surprise. She gave him a wary smile, and he noticed that she was out of uniform – a sleeveless jumper over a pussy-bow shirt and a flared skirt in place of the strange WPC uniform. Her hair was down and flicking outwards, the hat with its chequered band gone.

"Are you alright?" she asked – _and wasn't that just the most loaded question in existence_.

"Not really" Ianto said mildly, "I don't belong here. These shops... none of them were here when I was a kid. I don't recognise any of it. I'm not even sure my parents would remember."

He sounded hysterical even to himself.

"You know, Ianto... I have a cousin. Her name's Emma" Gwen said, pulling Ianto slightly further away from the curb as she spoke. "She fell into the docks when she was six, before it was all filled in. She lost her memory – she couldn't tell you what an apple was, a beaker, a car, a pencil... but she got better. You will too."

Ianto looked at her, attempting to fight against the fog clouding his mind.

"I didn't lose my memory – it's been changed or something, I don't know" he said quietly, so quietly that she had to raise herself to her toe-tips to hear. "I'm going for a walk."

"Ianto, I don't think you should be alone..."

"I already am alone."

Ianto turned on his heel and began to stride away from the pub, away from Jack, away from Gwen, stopping only when the latter spoke once more.

"What are you expecting to find, Ianto? A shining light? A white door?" she asked, sounding as incredulous as he felt. But, as illogical as her words were, they gave Ianto the final option which had alluded him. He knew that he had to do now.

"Maybe" he murmured, and kept walking.

* * *

><p>The light breeze through his hair felt freeing, wafting a little clarity through his misted mind for the first time since he'd woken up in this new-old world. A more powerful gust of wind almost caused him to lose his footing, and he leaned back against the railing with a long, steadying breath.<p>

Ianto had walked and walked, winding through roads he knew but barely recognised. He had moved in a trance, bumping into strangers without apologies. Now, on the roof of the police station as the sun began to set, he idly wondered how long it had been since he left the pub. Since he arrived here. Was time even the same in this bizarre non-reality? He'd found his watch broken during the short car journey to the pub, but he was somehow certain that it wouldn't make a difference.

Ianto held only one clear idea in his mind, and during his walk, it had consumed his thoughts entirely. Now, it was a case of taking that final leap.

He didn't hear the wary footsteps creeping closer until Gwen was only a few feet away, on the other side of the barrier, but he knew without looking that it was her.

"It's alright" he said aloud, peering down at the ground fifty, perhaps sixty feet below. "I know the answer."

"Why are you doing this?" Gwen asked from behind him, her voice gentle, calming – the voice of somebody who'd done this before.

"I'm taking the definitive step towards waking up" Ianto declared, turning to smile at her. "It's like when you have a nightmare about being killed, and you open your eyes at the critical moment – this is it."

Looking around him, Ianto knew he was right about this. The sight of the tarmac below was as daunting as he'd anticipated, but it was the right decision. He was certain of it.

Almost certain.

"Come away from the edge" Gwen said evenly.

"I don't think so" Ianto calmly replied, another gust buffeting him slightly. "I need to get home."

"Jones!" a third voice boomed, followed by the slam of the roof door. Ianto chose not to turn and face Jack, irritated by the lack of privacy when attempting to return to his life.

"What are you playing at?" the supposed DCI continued.

"He wants to jump – he thinks this isn't real" Gwen answered, her tone laden with concern. A distant part of Ianto was mildly touched that somebody cared, but he wouldn't allow it to stop him.

A feminine gasp alerted Ianto to the fact that Jack had leapt nimbly over the railing and was suddenly standing close to Ianto, his military coat catching the breeze, his body warmth mingling with Ianto's.

"We all feel like jumping sometimes" he said quietly, his voice so sincere that Ianto turned to look at him in surprise. "Maybe there's a reason you're here."

Ianto shook his head, half-watching as the sun swiftly dipped below the concrete horizon behind Jack.

"I've nothing to lose" he murmured.

"There's _always_ something to lose" Jack countered. "Ianto, how can I convince you that you're not lost?"

"You can't."

Ianto turned away from him once again, gazing over a skyline he knew but didn't know. He'd lost touch with his view of reality to the extent that plummeting to the ground didn't frighten him in the slightest. Slowly, he extended a foot and dangled it off the edge of the roof.

"No!" Jack yelled, forcibly grabbing one of Ianto's hands. The delicate bones protested the harsh grip and Ianto was immediately struck by the enormity of what he was attempting. What if he was wrong? What if dying wasn't the answer? What if death here equated death in the real world? The truth lay in Jack's palm, warm and tight against his fingers, and he frowned down at where they were joined.

"What's that?" he asked, falling back against the barrier.

"What?" Jack's eyes were wild, panicked.

"On your hand..."

Jack gave him a suspicious glance before breaking the connection, rubbing his fingers together.

"Sand" he said, eyes shifting with vague embarrassment; "I stumbled against the fire bucket on the way up the stairs."

Ianto stared at him, his mind clearing a little more around the edges. Confusion blinded him still, but his certainty about leaving this place waned as quickly as it had developed.

"Why would I imagine a detail like that?" he pondered aloud. Sand in a man's palm? It wouldn't even have occurred to him that the station would have fire buckets instead of extinguishers in 1973. He couldn't have known that.

"You wouldn't" Jack replied, and Ianto knew it was true. He swallowed against a dry, tight mass in his throat and fought those tears of fear which had finally caught up with him.

"What do I do now?" he whispered, swaying a little when Jack's spare hand came to rest on his shoulder, holding him in place as if the evening wind might push Ianto over the edge.

"Stay" he said, his voice firm but caring in a way Ianto had previously assumed Jack probably wasn't capable of. "Just stay."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** Good morrow, all! I hope you're still enjoying the story. I didn't get many reviews this week, but it is a slow-burner, so please stick with me and do let me know if you're enjoying it. Next week, the update will be a day late, because I'm going to Brighton for a long weekend and won't have access to a computer. Thanks in advance for your patience.

As ever, personal love is being extended to all of my readers, to** riftintime** for invaluable feedback, and to my mum who kindly explained to me what the world was like before debit cards reigned.

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

The moment he stepped back over the railing, Jack's sand-roughened hand leading him to relative safety, Ianto realised that obsessing over what might have happened to him was absolutely not doing him any good. With an almost troubling sense of calm, he decided that instead, he would force his detective training into action and direct it towards the motley crew he found himself a part of. Coming to understand them, and his surroundings, might become key in unravelling the mystery of how he was snatched from 2011 and unceremoniously dropped in 1973.

As soon as Ianto was far enough away from the edge that he couldn't attempt a flying leap without being caught, Jack gruffly ordered Gwen to take him home. He let go of his hand and gave the DI a strangely irritated shove, causing Ianto to sway towards Gwen, who looped an arm around his waist and led him towards the stairwell. After apologetically referring to Ianto's paperwork back in the main office to find an address Ianto didn't know, they were on their way to a destination five or so minutes from the station.

The block itself was a blot on the landscape, and after Gwen collected the keys from a rather surly security guard, Ianto's flat turned out to be a grim, lifeless, but admittedly clean orange-and-brown living space which was approximately the size of Ianto's living room in 2011. It wasn't much bigger than the bedsit he had rented as a student, in fact. The main area included a single bed, a small television, a wardrobe, and a chest of drawers. Another door led, Ianto presumed, to a kitchen and bathroom, but for all he knew they occupied the same space. He didn't have the energy to look.

"Are you going to be alright?" Gwen asked, placing a hand lightly on his arm. Ianto glanced down into her bright hazel eyes and forced a smile, certain it wouldn't wash as natural but needing to be alone.

"I'm not feeling especially suicidal for the time being, if that's what you mean" he replied in what he hoped was a jovial tone. Gwen looked doubtful, but seemed to concede to his silent plea in stepping back and rooting around in her handbag for a notepad.

"Here's my number, in case you need me" she said, scribbling a shorter sequence than Ianto was used to and adding her name. Seeming to hesitate for a moment, she then added another number, and wrote 'Jack' beneath it.

"That's the number for the boss' office. He seems to spend all his time there" she explained, ripping the sheet from its book and handing it to Ianto. "Alternatively, 999 generally works..."

Ianto huffed out a weak laugh, taking the scrap of paper and folding it in two.

"Thanks, Gwen" he said sincerely. "Actually... could I borrow that pad?"

He pointed towards the A5 book in Gwen's hand, and she gave it to him without hesitation.

"Keep it – I nicked it from work" she said with a wink, also pressing the ball-point pen she had used into his palm. "It might help to organise your thoughts" Gwen added more softly, and Ianto gratefully nodded.

Ianto walked to the door and they said their awkward goodnights before Ianto was left alone.

As he dropped himself heavily upon the protesting bed, another realisation befell him – he had absolutely no luggage. Rising to his weary feet once more, he forced a little energy into his limbs and went to look at the kitchen and bathroom, which were blessedly separate, if both minute. While the kitchen was stocked with essentials – glasses, mugs, plates, a kettle, a box of loose leaf tea, even a glass bottle of milk in the fridge – there was nothing recognisable to be seen. Similarly, the bathroom included a basic toothbrush, toothpaste, Old Spice bubble bath and a razor laid out uniformly around the sink, but none of it was his own. Returning to the bedroom/lounge he laughed aloud on discovering even _slippers_ at the foot of the bed. Essentially, however, he owned nothing but a broken watch and the clothes on his back. His ID was gone, his keys were gone, his wallet was gone, and his mobile was gone. He had nothing that could prove who he was or where he was from.

Slowly, Ianto stripped off his clothes and tucked them neatly into the wardrobe beside the bed, grateful for the presence of hangers. Once he was in only his underwear, he sat down upon the bed and began to write everything he knew into the notebook Gwen had given him. His name, where and when he was born, the names of his parents, his sister, childhood memories, his journey through school, through university, meeting Lisa, moving in with her, their address, case #456, the names of his potentially fellow missing persons, a detailed account of precisely what had happened on the lead-up to waking at Bute docks... and then, with his wrist throbbing and his mind a mass of disorder, Ianto turned over to press his face into the pillow, and screamed until no more sound would escape his throat.

* * *

><p>"Nice place."<p>

Ianto focussed on keeping his breathing deep, regular, not yet ready to face the fact that he remained stuck in what was supposedly 1970's Cardiff. His semi-conscious mind knew it just from the scratchy fabric of the blanket on his back, the thin single mattress beneath him, and the instantly recognisable cadence of DCI Jack Harkness.

"I like this little fairytale in your notebook, too. I mean, you do look young, but I _had_ assumed you'd already been born..."

Rejecting the previous notion of maintaining utter stillness, Ianto jerked up from his prone position to glare at the man standing too close to his bed for comfort, before reaching out and snatching the pad away.

Jack smirked in a way that made Ianto want to lodge the ring binding in his skull, before sitting down on the edge of the bed, making the frame groan.

"Are you always so bloody dressy?" Ianto asked with disdain, his voice thick with sleep as his eyes swept over Jack's outfit. It was the same as the previous day's, but clearly a fresh, clean, well-ironed version. He could easily imagine Jack having the brass buttons professionally polished. Perhaps using the same industrial cleaning products that made his Hollywood grin gleam so brightly.

"Would you rather me naked?" Jack asked, his left eyebrow twitching in invitation.

"I'd rather you weren't here" Ianto rebuffed, conscious in response to Jack's flirtation of his naked back being on full display. However, to cover it up would be to admit that Jack's attitude bothered him, and he'd be damned if he was going to do anything of the sort.

Jack smiled at him for a moment longer before reaching into his pocket and handing two slim, rectangular items to Ianto.

"Here – for you" he said, opening the small leather booklet on top. "Your ID."

Ianto stared at a grainy, sepia-tinted image of himself and scanned the old-fashioned lettering. The layout was familiar, and the cover slightly battered, but it wasn't the badge he'd had in 2011. Not even close.

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly.

"Your old station sent us a few things you'll need. It's amazing what people forget in a hurry."

The second document was a brand new cheque book, with his name clearly stamped on every page alongside unfamiliar account codes.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he sighed. "I don't think I've written a cheque in my entire life."

"You don't know how to use a cheque book?" Jack asked, laughter in his voice, and Ianto shoved himself into an upright position with a growl of anger.

"Where I come from – _the real world_, as I like to call it – we have such ground-breaking devices as debit cards and cash points. Cheque books are pretty much superfluous in 2011" he replied, creasing the narrow pages in his clenched fist.

"Uh huh" Jack murmured, sounding as if he thought Ianto was at least two screws short. "Look, it's straightforward – when you want to buy something, you write a cheque to the shop. When you want to take money out of your account, you write a cheque to the bank. It's as simple as that."

"I don't know if I even _have_ any money."

"On a London DI's wage? You'll have money."

"Why do I have these and no luggage? Where are all my clothes?" Ianto asked, letting the ID and cheque book fall onto the bed. Jack shrugged.

"Presumably wherever your car is" he replied. "Gwen and I found you alone, on the ground and unconscious, at the Bute docks. If you can't tell us what happened to you between leaving London and arriving here, we can't exactly help."

"It's all in here" Ianto stated, raising his voice as he grabbed for his notebook. "For god's sake, I was born in 1980! I've got thirty-one years of perfectly ordinary, linear memories in my head! On the 18th of December 2011, I was following a case on the Isle of Dogs, and now – supposedly trapped in nineteen-seventy-sodding-three with absolutely zero clue of what might have happened to me – I'm expected to know exactly where I am, what I'm doing, and how I got here!"

"Hey, hey, calm down" Jack said, reaching out to touch Ianto's shoulder. Ianto shrugged him off, breathing through the panic and reminding himself of the calm new mindset he was attempting to cultivate. He couldn't figure anything out whilst letting his anxiety pull him apart.

"Look, I didn't really expect you to come to the station today anyway" Jack explained. "Maybe you should just get a feel of the city for now, buy some essentials, settle in."

"Yeah, that'll really take the edge off" Ianto muttered. "How did you even get in here?"

"I've got a key" Jack replied, winking. "Company policy."

"It's company policy to stroll into your officers' houses whenever you please?"

"Yep."

"Policing really has come along in leaps and bounds."

"Just take the day off, alright? Try to clear you head" Jack said, sounding almost as if he gave a damn.

"Fine" Ianto replied sharply, flinging back the covers and striding into his tiny bathroom. On returning from a quick wash, a piss, and a brush of his teeth, he was relieved to discover that Jack had gone, and unsurprised to note that his stomach was spasming with hunger. The sense of reality – a full bladder, an empty belly, the dark shadow of stubble which he couldn't be bothered to shave off yet – was undeniable. The mundanity of it all was deeply disturbing. If this was some fantasy land, a coma, a drug trip, or even a parallel universe, why was everything so damn dull? He was in the city where he grew up, soon to be doing the job he already did, with a handful of strangers who, thus far, seemed unremarkable. Not a talking unicorn in sight.

As per his silent plan, Ianto decided to go along with it. With a grimace, he climbed back into the suit from the previous day, which was wrinkled and grubby but there was no alternative. A glance at his cheque book told him where the branch his account lay within could be found, and he stepped from his flat into the world.

Ianto tried to notice everything, searching for a clue or a crack in the normality surrounding him. Middling people walked idly by, some sparing a glance for him and some not, and he wondered briefly whether they were truly real, whether they knew he wasn't one of them, and whether he had inadvertently swallowed one of Morpheus' red pills.

The bank's logo swinging above him was what finally halted Ianto's fantastical introspection. Not knowing precisely what to do, he took his cheque book to one of the smiling women seated within, her polyester uniform almost neon beneath the cheap lighting. He was temporarily amazed by the lack of bullet-proof perspex separating him from the cashier, before she cheerily asked him if she could help at all.

"Yes, hi, I was wondering if you could tell me how much is in my bank account?" Ianto asked, gingerly sliding his cheque book across the desk. He was startled when she replied in the affirmative, asking "would you like the amount printed on a confidential receipt?"

"Yes, please" he replied, watching in amazement as she went through the lengthy process of checking his booklet, finding his details on the ancient system, and finally producing a small slip of paper which she handed him upside-down with a conspiratorial smile. Flipping the paper over he glanced at the sum, eyes widening in surprise. He thought back to his rather hazy economics lessons at school, trying to fathom what that amount of cash translated to in 1973. His rough estimate was 'a shit load'.

"Would you like to take any money from your account today, sir?"

"Err... yes, two hundred, please."

With a little guidance from the endlessly patient cashier, Ianto wrote out the necessary cheque and was handed a small stack of fresh notes.

"Thank you" he murmured distractedly, tucking all of the papers into his inner jacket pocket and wondering where on earth to start.

Tightening his grasp on long-maintained skills of stoic focus, Ianto began to work towards making this bizarre place at least a little more comfortable for himself. First and foremost, he needed clothing, and despite acute embarrassment at his dishevelled appearance, he stepped into the nearest reputable-looking department shop and immediately purchased three decent off-the-rack suits complete with shirts and ties. An ageing sales assistant did point out that those particular outfits were better suited to funereal occasions, but if it was between plain black and wool-based flares in a spectrum of browns... there was simply no contest. Ianto might have been stuck in the 70's, but he didn't have to _look_ like it.

Underwear came next – forcing Ianto to choose a style more suited to embarrassing uncles, in his opinion, but he had little choice – followed by socks, a spare pair of shoes, plain t-shirts, the closest thing he could find to straight-leg casual trousers, and finally, food. Though it was illogical, it still surprised him how foreign a supermarket from nearly forty years previous to what he was used to could be. He struggled to find anything nearing the type of convenience food he preferred in 2011, having to settle instead for the very basics, including (with great reluctance) various types of fresh vegetables and fruit. Provided it filled his cramping stomach, he simply didn't care.

Walking back to what was supposedly his home, Ianto was more grateful than ever for his exceptionally sharp memory. He found the building again with ease, though he couldn't claim to be happy about it. The flat hadn't improved since he left, but the new acquisitions made it at least appear as if somebody lived there. Ianto cursed when he realised that he should have bought both a new wallet and a watch, before wondering if he should be concerned by that thought. He had to find the balance between becoming part of the world he found himself in, and remaining completely aware and vigilant in order to find his way out. Back to reality. Back to Lisa.

He would pass this test, and then he would return to his life. He _had _to believe that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Notes:** I'm back! Sorry for the delay, everybody, but at least I was able to warn you in advance. It's been a very long weekend, punctuated with illness, joy, and a little bit of heartbreak, but I come bearing fic. Do enjoy. Thank you to every single lovely person who's read this, and especially those who are kind enough to review. Marv'llous.

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

It was still dark when an almost imperceptible movement awoke him. Ianto had always been a light sleeper, and his second night of anxious, restless slumber in the orange-and-brown hovel had only heightened that sense of awareness. He laid on his back, wriggling his fingers and breathing deeply, feeling his expanding chest stretch the white t-shirt surrounding it. _There's a light whistling wind outside. My legs itch from the blanket. I can feel all ten toes. Even if I don't know where I am, I'm alive._

"May I read your cards?"

A soft voice shattered the silence, and Ianto sucked in a panicked gasp, his entire body jerking violently until he was seated upright against the pillow. He stared wildly around him, startled to discover a girl of ten or twelve staring down at him. Though the rest of the room was shrouded in darkness, a light from nowhere appeared to keep her face aglow enough to see her features, highlighting the huge, dark eyes, round face, and almost deathly-pale skin. Ianto sat completely still, his fingers twisted tightly in the blankets as he blinked hard in the hope that the image might fade.

"May I read your cards?" she repeated, one corner of her mouth twitching in a grim shadow of a smile.

"No, thank you" Ianto replied, his hoarse voice almost inaudible. The girl was undeterred, as she immediately produced a pack of oversized cards from within what appeared to be a cape, and sat herself on the edge of Ianto's bed. He scrabbled to shift as far away from her as he could whilst remaining on the mattress, heart pounding in his chest and his ears.

"How did you get in?" he asked, but the girl didn't acknowledge his question, instead turning her thin body towards him and laying a single printed card on his blanket-covered leg. Ianto allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and leaned forward slightly, his eyes attuned enough to the almost total lack of light to get a decent view of the image. It was a crude pair of scales, with the word 'Adjustment' written beneath in a neat calligraphic font.

"You were never meant to be here" the girl stated, her voice tinged with a strange empathy. Unable to think of a response, Ianto simply stared as she placed down another card – a figure hanging from its feet. The word below read 'Waiting'.

"For what? What am I waiting for?" he asked aloud, unsurprised when the girl didn't reply. The third image had him physically recoiling until his back hit the headboard once more. Even he, with next to no knowledge of tarot reading, knew what that was.

"Death" he whispered, looking down at the spectral skeleton.

"No" the girl said, lifting the card close to Ianto's face. She pointed to the word below the image – 'Change'.

"The figure of Death himself does not necessarily mean you shall die" she explained. "It does not have to mean anything negative at all. Something is going to change for you, soon, and bring the clarity you crave. After which, The Moon will guide you in a voyage to the self, and you will make your peace with The Knight of Wands when you are each ready to do so."

She held up the final image; a figure in armour, the world behind him aflame.

"Who is he?" Ianto asked, frowning at the card.

"The one who makes the decisions" the girl replied, deftly scooping up her cards and tucking them away. "He believes in his decisions with a deep conviction, but they are not always as wise as he hopes. His sense of duty is vast – he will do right by you in the end, Ianto Jones."

"I don't understand any of it" Ianto murmured to himself more than to the girl, whose every utterance seemed to be increasingly cryptic. A heavy sense of fatigue suddenly embrace him and all of his questions died on his lips, his eyes slipping closed before he could stop them.

"Sleep" he heard that gentle voice whisper, and he could only obey.

* * *

><p>The following morning, and with little idea of when he was expected to get into work, Ianto began his walk to the station at not long after six. The streets were quiet and the pavements mostly clear, for which he was grateful. He glanced above him at a surprisingly blue sky, clouds drifting at a lazy pace, then down at concrete slabs strewn with splodges of chewing gum and cigarette ends.<p>

His memory of The Tarot Girl had blurred a little by the time he awoke again, but unlike most dreams, it retained a vividness that he had never experienced before. Normally, no matter how bizarre the activity in the dream, the dreamer found it perfectly ordinary until they awoke. Ianto, however, still felt the lingering ghosts of terror on discovering a sinister child in his bedroom, of confusion as she turned the cards, and of dismay at falling asleep when he had so much still to ask. But exhaustion had enveloped him immediately after the girl finished her reading, and when he awoke, Ianto had felt oddly refreshed.

On climbing into the olive-coloured bath that morning, Ianto had opened a fresh page of his notepad and written down the entire vision. It made no more sense to him in the cold light of day than it had in the middle of the night, but as Gwen had said, writing things down would organise his thoughts a little better.

Now, he held the book tightly in his right hand and used the left to straighten one of his new ties as the station came into view. He hadn't a clue what the crime rate might be here, at this time, and as such would have to rely on his new colleagues to give him some idea of what was expected from him. At the same time, he planned to fill his notebook with any details about them that he could gather. As a start, he had written down the names of those he had met – first names only applying for Gwen and Jack, thus far – and his initial impressions. Again, only two members had earned more than a basic paragraph, and they couldn't have been more different.

Ianto couldn't help but like Gwen. Where Harper, Sato and Costello had barely said a word at the station two days before, Gwen Cooper had clearly been keeping an eye on him, seeming to show up just when he needed a guiding hand the most. He suspected that her maternal instincts towards him would continue until she felt Ianto was settled – or until he found his way out and returned home, whichever came first. He hoped it would be the latter, as grateful as he was for her stabilising presence in this freakish circumstance.

Jack Harkness, on the other hand, was absolutely _not_ an open book. Ianto was one of the Met's most respected Detective Inspectors for a reason, but with Jack, he drew a blank. He had immediately disliked him, but their short discussion on the roof had made him question that swift decision. Jack was more than he seemed, Ianto was sure of that now. His infuriating cockiness had returned the following morning, but it was partially the echo of the man's gentle words - "_we all feel like jumping sometimes... maybe there's a reason you're here_" - that had stopped Ianto from punching the smug smile off his face.

The same obnoxious grin greeted Ianto as he returned to the grotty office that was supposedly now his place of work. Jack was standing in the doorway of his little shack, in a pose almost identical to the one of two days prior, and Ianto fought against the natural urge to roll his eyes at the display.

"Morning, DI Jones!" Jack said, louder than was strictly necessary. "Love the new suit. I thought you'd be a early riser – I can always tell."

The wink that followed was predictable. Ianto had learned already that flirting for Jack was the same as small talk for others.

"Good morning" he responded, stopping a few feet away from the alleged DCI.

"How was your day off?" Jack asked, his tone light as if the short break had been a jolly holiday.

"Arduous" Ianto replied with a nod.

"Hmm. Sorted your head out?"

Ianto shot Jack a weary look. "There's nothing to sort out" he replied truthfully. _It's not me who's mad; it's this place..._

Jack's disbelieving gaze extended to cover Ianto's entire body, morphing into something altogether different by the time his eyes returned to the DI's face. Somewhat discomfited, Ianto itched to change the subject.

"So... which desk is mine?"

"Either of those two" Jack replied, pointing. "Why exactly we have six desks between four officers, I couldn't tell you."

Ianto stared at him, incredulous. "Wait, four? The four I've already met, they're the only officers on your team?"

"Well, five, including you" Jack grinned. "Six, including me. We manage fine."

"You police Cardiff between five of you?"

"Of course not! The uniformed lot do the grunt work, and we don't share a station. They deal with the civilian junk, we get the interesting cases."

"What about Cooper? She's a uniformed PC too, why is she on _your_ team?" Ianto wondered if the answer was as shallow as he suspected it might be. It hadn't escaped his notice that Gwen Cooper was quite beautiful.

"She possesses particular skills that I require here" Jack replied, suddenly serious. Ianto was taken aback once again by his ability to swing between moods so swiftly. "I only pick the best for my team."

Ianto narrowed his eyes. If he was on Jack's team, and Jack only 'picked' the best... then perhaps the supposed transfer wasn't random, but calculated. Perhaps Jack knew something about him. Almost as quickly as the notion of Jack being some kind of key to what might have happened to him formed in Ianto's mind, he rejected it, unsure exactly why. Unless he simply didn't want to imagine that a smarmy git like Jack Harkness was the one dangling reality above him, just out of reach.

"Will there be any kind of induction?" Ianto asked with careful nonchalance, moving away a little to place his notebook on the desk he had chosen. _There's not even a bloody typewriter_ he thought, shaking his head.

"Do you _want_ one?" Jack asked, following him with a distinct saunter. Ianto could feel himself growing very tired of Jack's coquetry, very quickly. As if reading his thoughts, Jack continued; "nah, a capable young DI like yourself? You don't need an induction. You'll pick it up nice and quick."

With that, Jack spun on his heel and abandoned his new employee to the emptiness of an understocked office. Ianto sighed, sinking into his chair and sliding one hand possessively over his notebook. He was a man who needed to be in control of his own life, and the only people who'd ever been able to sway him were his mother and Lisa.

His world had always been full of certainties. Without them, how could faith exist?


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes:** Evening, all! Another chapter for your perusal. I'm more aware that anybody that this story crawls at a slower pace than the average three-legged tortoise, but please stick with me if you have the patience. The reviews and hits are marvellous forms of encouragement. On with the show...

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

After several endless days of waking in the same place and following the same routine, Ianto understood how the office ran. Or at least, as much as the world around him was _allowing_ him to understand. On realising swiftly that the entire team bar Gwen was apparently planning to ignore his presence, he chose not to go out of his way to hide the fact that he was writing notes about them, watching from the sidelines and scribbling down anything that could be remotely relevant.

The profiles of his colleagues developed quickly. Once Gwen introduced the rest of the team to him in a more thorough sense than Sergeant Harper had – a task which would normally be undertaken by any half-decent leader, but apparently Jack wasn't up to the challenge – Ianto discovered that their first names were Owen, Toshiko, and Suzie. Whether it was paranoia brought on by the general strain of being so hopelessly lost or not, he couldn't tell, but it seemed as if the three of them avoided him deliberately. The way that Gwen sometimes looked towards them with charitable appeal in her eyes solidified the idea that the three had made some sort of pact to leave him alone, and it seemed only Gwen felt able to break away.

When Ianto shared a conversation, it was with Gwen. Jack watched him; as a watcher himself, he knew the signs, and he felt those bright blue eyes following even when he couldn't tell exactly where Jack was. However, he rarely spoke. He spent much of his time in that little shed, and Ianto regularly wished he knew what the man could be doing. The DCI's own profile remained full of spaces and question marks.

Gwen had given him a tour on his first full day. He mapped the building out in his head as they walked, and by his reckoning, she couldn't have shown him more than two thirds of the space. Her final exclamation of "and that's all there is to see!" was a little too cheerily forced, but Ianto had nodded and thanked her, and immediately written down everything she'd said.

She answered any spoken questions he had with a subtle combination of honesty and deflection. Ianto knew when he was being lied to, and Gwen's expressive eyes did her no favours. Originally wanting to write it off as anxious delusion, Ianto was certain after three days in the office that his colleagues were hiding something from him. Something which could potentially be linked the reason for his arrival in this place.

Aside from everything else he had experienced, the working activity there made no sense whatsoever. To call them 'police' was vastly charitable. Ianto quickly established that the process began with a telephone call – one which was directed to Jack's office and _only_ Jack's office – before either nothing at all occurred, or he burst from the small hut, barked out the name of one or several of his officers, and took them out with him. Sometimes the case would take half an hour, sometimes three; either way he and the person he had taken with him would return to the station, go to Jack's office to deliberate, and then continue as if nothing had happened. Nothing was discussed aloud, and nothing was written up. At least not openly.

At first, Ianto had assumed that he wasn't being taken out on any cases by the DCI because Jack thought he was bonkers – an belief about which he hadn't been subtle.. However, Ianto was soon of the opinion that certain gaping elements of his new job were being kept from him. Jack had implied that his team was elite – a crack force – yet the volume of what Ianto would call _policing_ was non-existent. The trips out to chase up those mysterious telephone calls were frequent, but there was no liaison, no meetings, no case notes. Nothing. Aside from the occasional burst of energy with Jack sweeping through the office, his coat and a spare officer or two trailing behind him, nothing happened. And when Jack was out, at least one if not all of the remaining officers would also disappear to, presumably, another part of the building. Even Gwen made no attempt to involve Ianto with actual cases, leading him to wonder yet again why the hell he could possibly be there.

The closest Ianto found to actual records were a few sparse sheets in a small filing cabinet which was almost completely obscured by a dying potted tree. He'd shoved the plant aside and read the reports in detail, looking for a sign. What kind of sign, he had no idea... but there had to be _something_.

To his initial dismay, each file detailed only minor misdemeanours, the most basic and bog-standard of petty crimes imaginable. Just then, some of Jack's previous words had returned to him - "_the uniformed lot do the grunt work; they deal with the civilian junk_". Why would a group who supposedly only dealt with 'interesting cases' – Special Ops, it'd be colloquially called in 2011 – have case notes for such minor crimes? Recent notes at that, and so perfectly described that they were practically textbook.

* * *

><p>It had been seven days since Ianto awoke at Bute docks. Every morning he woke up and, after a moment of blissful bafflement, he would be hit by an almost tangible wave of despair, anxiety, and vexation. On swallowing hard against the inevitable rise of bile, he would bathe and dress, force down some stale toasted bread, and leave for the station as quickly as possible. The office was marginally more bearable than the cramped cube he was supposed to call a home; he felt less suffocated by it than by the flat despite the fact that everything around him left him reeling with questions.<p>

Ianto hadn't dreamed of The Tarot Girl again. His mind remained clear in sleep, but for the consistent, aching reminder that he was alone in every sense. In the morning, before wakefulness took hold, he sometimes imagined Lisa's arm was thrown across his stomach, that the mattress below him was high-quality memory foam, that he could look forward to a power shower, Columbian coffee and croissants, and his normal, respectable life.

The hope still flared, every time, but when he opened his eyes he remained trapped. Every time, he had to exercise all his might to halt the panic attack before it could take hold. He would walk into work calm, composed, and stoic, and he would absolutely not let his colleagues know just how much he was struggling.

Ianto went into the office every day, despite Jack's assurances that nobody was expected to work around the clock. Ianto had replied with some universal superhero cliché of crime never taking a break, and Jack had laughed, predictably. Still, the DCI threw him out every evening as early as possible, the record being 4PM. As time went on, Ianto questioned it, and was either brushed off in response, or told that it was a quiet week and The New Kid didn't have anything to do just yet, which was a serious understatement. One evening, Ianto decided to wait outside of the station once he had left. Hours passed before anybody else followed – first Owen Harper, then Gwen with Toshiko, and eventually Suzie Costello. Come midnight, Ianto had given up on seeing whether Jack would also emerge.

Everything was logged in his notebook, and each evening, he would try to make sense of what he had recorded. Twice, he had fallen asleep with his head across the pages. The second time was on the sixth night, and on the seventh morning, he decided he would have to be proactive.

His opportunity came early in the afternoon, as the unseen telephone rang and Jack swaggered from his office, calling Toshiko and Gwen to join him. Clearly thinking they were being subtle, Suzie soon sidled away to somewhere else in the station, and Owen followed. What they were doing, Ianto didn't want to know, provided he was left with a little time to himself.

He waited, just in case, choosing stealth over haste. Half an hour of solitude passed before he silently rose to his feet and walked to Jack's shed, slowly attempting to give the door knob a turn. As he suspected, it was immovable. He'd noticed the consistent loud click once the door was closed after every time Jack flew through it, and had long ascertained that it locked itself from the inside. Fortunately, Ianto had learnt to pick locks as a teen, after dropping his keys in a fast-flowing stream during an eventful hike with a friend. Attempting to break into his own house later that day, soaked to the bone and with his friend threatening to put a plant pot through the window if Ianto didn't hurry up, he'd discovered a natural aptitude for it. It became somewhat of a party piece for him, and had aided him many times during his adult life and policing career. Finding his way into Jack's office was one such time, and the irony of the fact that in 2011, he wouldn't have had anywhere near such ease breaking into a boss' office, was not lost on him.

After a short struggle with an unbent paper-clip he had fashioned into a picking tool, the door swung open, and Ianto felt rather pleased with himself for the first time in this hell hole. As per the last time he had been inside the wooden shack, it was in disarray, with papers and knick knacks strewn across the desk. But what truly interested him was what lay within the filing cabinet he had slumped over a week previously. The cabinet, too, was locked, and put up more of a fight than the door had, but eventually acquiesced and the top drawer popped open invitingly.

Heart pounding, Ianto tugged it wide and discovered countless neatly-arranged brown paper files stuffed within, with dates scribbled on the tabs in tiny, precise handwriting. Allowing himself some small sense of victory for finally having made a move which might aid his plight, he picked up the first file and flipped it open, only to find his self-satisfaction was all in vain.

The papers were decorated with thousands of tiny symbols in straight lines, like text, but no text Ianto had ever seen. Such designs could certainly not be printed on a typewriter. The second file was the same, and the third – every single one, in fact, through to the next drawer, and the next.

After almost forty-five minutes, Ianto slumped once more over the stout cabinet after slamming it closed, and ran his fingers through his short hair. He had learnt absolutely nothing new from his venture into breaking and entering, besides the fact that if Jack could decipher that code, he was at least marginally more intelligent than Ianto had assumed.

The ring of Jack's telephone almost forced Ianto out of his own skin. He took a surreptitious glance around, wondering whether he was about to hear thunderous footsteps as a prologue to being caught raiding Jack's office, but the ring simply echoed ominously in an otherwise silent space. Ianto stared at the offending device before snatching up the receiver on the sixth ring, making his second rash decision of the day.

"Yes?"

"Harkness?" a suspicious male voice with a thick local accent asked after a pause.

"No, it's DI Jones; DCI Harkness is otherwise engaged" Ianto replied, tentatively lowering himself into Jack's seat.

"Oh" the voice said, sounding unsure. "I thought he was the only one who answers the phone..."

"As I said, he's unavailable" Ianto repeated. "Can I help?"

"Err... yeah, it's Davidson here. I think we've got one of your cases. I was calling Harkness to see if he'd come down and take a look."

"I'll come" Ianto said quickly – _too_ quickly, he thought with a wince.

"Would that be alright with Harkness?" Davidson asked, sounding as if he was acutely frightened of Jack and any potential wrath he might incur. Interesting.

"Are you questioning my authority as an officer of the law, Mr. Davidson?" Ianto asked in his sternest voice, and with a vague childish glee, he could _hear_ the man panic.

"Of course not, Detective Inspector..."

"Jones."

"Jones. No, I-I just have to be sure. I know your lot deals with all this sensitive material, so we can't be too careful."

Ianto felt one corner of his mouth twitch involuntarily. _A lead._

"Give me the address, and I'll come down now" he ordered, ready with a pen when it was delivered. Thankfully he knew, as he recalled the slightly rusted knowledge of his home city, that it wasn't far. He hadn't been issued a car, yet – he didn't know if they were even planning to do so – and his own hadn't been recovered by whoever was allegedly searching for it. It was a fruitless endeavour anyway, he was sure of it.

"Thank you, Mr. Davidson. You can expect me within half an hour" Ianto said, already plotting the route.

"I'll have a cup of tea waiting" Davidson replied in a distinctly sycophantic manner, and for once, Ianto chose to exploit it.

"Coffee" he bluntly replied, and dropped the receiver back in its cradle. A familiar thrill tickled at the edges of his despair-numbed mind, and he leaned back in Jack's seat with a short huff of laughter.

_Finally._


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes:** Evening, all! Another chapter for you, to which I should probably add a small gore warning. I do so love describing disgusting things... I'm aware that there are a few of last week's reviews I've failed to reply to yet, but I haven't forgotten, and I appreciate every single one of them more than I can express.

On with the show!

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

It had begun to rain by the time Ianto made it to the solitary warehouse where Davidson was waiting. Droplets dripped from his lashes and into his eyes, blurring the journey, but he was single-minded in his pursuit. On flying through the doors of the station with the address burning in his mind, he had felt that pumping, raw adrenaline begin to course through him – the kind he associated with a brand new case, or a firm lead. There was no evidence to suggest that what lay within the lonesome warehouse, standing solitary and away from the bustling industrial estate nearby, could solve the dilemma of what on earth had happened to him. However, Davidson had suggested that this was a case specific to Jack Harkness' group of officers, and that it involved _"sensitive material", _which meant that even more was being deliberately kept from him than he'd first imagined. It confirmed that his new team-mates probably kept bigger secrets than he'd realised, and he wondered when, if ever, they were planning to willingly involve him in whatever they actually did.

Ianto was no longer giving them the choice.

The corrugated iron door swung open with a piercing squeal, and Ianto shook the drizzle from his hands and hair as he stepped inside. The warehouse was vast, dark, abandoned by the looks of it, littered with evidence of homeless inhabitants and puddles where the ceiling leaked. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking hard several times, then swiped at his lightly-stubbled cheeks and the tip of his nose in an attempt to rid himself of the remaining moisture. He could feel it still falling unpleasantly from his collar and down his back, reminding him with a pang of anxiety of the night on Canary Wharf.

"DI Jones?"

Movement caught his attention, and out of the shadows a gangly, fair-haired man with friendly brown eyes rose to his feet, extending a hand. Ianto was surprised to discover that the mysterious Davidson was not just a Mr, but a PC.

"Davidson" he stated in reply, taking in the outdated uniform. The knees of Davidson's trousers were grubby, presumably from leaning over whatever he'd called him down to see. Glancing over Davidson's shoulder, Ianto noted a sheet of tarpaulin draped over a lumpy, shapeless mass.

"Pleasure to meet you" the PC said, youthful eagerness in his face. "I, err, brought you a Thermos of coffee. The good stuff."

Davidson reached for a green plastic capsule on the floor, handing it to Ianto.

"Thank you" the DI replied, taking a moment to unscrew the lid and pour some of the hot black liquid into it. The scent hit him like feverish kiss, and he struggled not to sigh with pleasure. He hadn't had coffee since his final cup at work in 2011. There wasn't even so much as a kettle at the station – or a kitchen area in general, for that matter – and he'd been loathe to find out what 1970's instant tasted like, if there was such a thing. Nor did he feel able to find a coffee shop to feed his craving, instead settling for tea at the flat. He disliked the idea of enjoying any luxury while stuck in this place, lest it somehow weaken him and make him even more vulnerable than he already was. However, Davidson's Thermos of fresh-gound, he told himself, was brain fuel and would be required for the following investigation.

Davidson was watching him, apparently awaiting approval. Ianto took a tentative sip, then a large mouthful, and couldn't help but smile.

"Delicious" he confirmed, and Davidson seemed to let out a held breath. "Now, what am I here to see?"

Davidson sprung into action, leading Ianto to the tarpaulin and crawling around to the other side of it, hindered by the mound's close proximity to the wall.

"Some junkie found it and called us from that phone box outside" Davidson explained, crouching down. "Me and the lads came to check it out, but it seemed pretty obvious that it was one for Harkness' team, so I drew the short straw to stick around and wait for you."

He flashed Ianto a regretful smile, plucking at the corner of the tarp.

"Ready?" he asked, and Ianto frowned, screwing the now-empty lid back onto the Thermos and placing it carefully on the floor.

"Yes" he replied with confusion, wondering why he wouldn't be.

Davidson whipped back the covering, revealing what appeared to be a pile of raw meat. On closer inspection, Ianto realised with no small degree of horror that it was once a human body.

Forcing himself not to step back or even grimace, he leaned down a little closer to the corpse, the coppery, acidic stench of innards filling his nostrils. Such was the damage to the flesh that Ianto wasn't even able to determine the gender. The skin of what he assumed had once been a face was peeled away, teeth and cartilage strewn about the black pool of blood which framed the macabre image. There appeared to be three heavily wounded limbs remaining, and a shell of a torso, organs ripped out from inside the ribcage. What little skin and clothing remained showed huge, clumsy gouges, presumably made by a crude weapon. A blunted pickaxe perhaps, Ianto thought. Whatever had caused such sickening human destruction must have been under the influence of a serious mental disorder or hallucinogenic drugs in order for that degree of frenzied rage to manifest itself.

Once he had looked over the body with sufficient thoroughness, and before the scent of it could cause him to empty the small amount of food in his stomach onto the floor, Ianto straightened himself up and nodded at Davidson to replace the covering.

"Brutal, it is – no mercy" Davidson said almost conversationally, moving to stand beside Ianto. "We thought it might be one of those creatures your lot are always chasing."

Ianto looked at him questioningly, not wishing to voice the fact that he knew nothing of his team's operations.

"You know, one of those... whatsits, I've forgotten what you call them, but Harkness tells us what to look for and this one's got all the tell-tale signs."

Ianto narrowed his eyes at the re-covered mass of bones and blood. _Creatures_? Creatures which had killed people often enough to have _tell-tale signs_? What the hell was being kept from him?

"Anyway, there's nothing we can do for them now, poor bastards. No bloody way of even identifying them."

Ianto opened his mouth to argue, then closed it quickly. He felt a swell of frustration at being trapped in a time so painfully unadvanced in its policing that there wouldn't even have been an official forensics team as such.

"What about fingerprints?" he asked, knowing it was a long shot, as there was almost no skin left to recognise a print from.

"They don't leave fingerprints, do they?" Davidson replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Those things. Perfect bloody crime."

_Serial-killing creatures without fingerprints. _The very concept struck horror and revulsion into Ianto's gut.

"Anyway, all I need is a positive ID that this is the same thing as the others, so we can incinerate the body along with the paperwork. If this is one for you lot, you just have to log it at your station, and we'll sort clean up."

Ianto weighed up his options. On the one hand, he didn't technically know what had killed the victim – whether it was an ordinary human, or one of the _creatures_ Davidson had described, that apparently Jack Harkness and his team were famous for chasing. If he called the station for a second opinion, they'd find out about him taking off on his own steam, and either come clean or close their secrets off even further. The latter seemed far more likely.

On the other hand, he could go along with Davidson's analysis, and continue his own quiet investigations with a little more information under his belt. His powerful sense of morality loudly opposed the idea, arguing that the victim beneath that plastic sheet deserved justice, but his even stronger sense of logic had to concede that this was no time for ethics to take the fore. He didn't have time for them right now.

"Yep, it's the same as the others" he said before he could talk himself out of it, and Davidson nodded.

"Right-o. I've written down a few of the details for you; time it was found, the time we arrived, description of the previous position of the body-"

"Hang on, you _moved_ the body?" Ianto asked sharply, irritated further when Davidson flinched.

"We had to get a good look at all the wounds" he replied with a sheepish shrug. Ianto closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose. An officer in his day who was stupid enough to so much as _touch_ evidence could potentially face a caution. He was finally getting a taste of just how different the same job nearly forty years before his time could be.

"Thank you, Davidson" he said, rolling his tense shoulders and becoming aware, damp and shrouded in shadows, of how tired he was. His first sojourn into the realms of actual policing in this place had offered only more questions rather than answers, and now that the excitable energy had worn off, he was left feeling almost as much of a husk as the cadaver at his feet.

"We'll, err... get that sorted for you then, sir" Davidson said, cutting into his introspection. Ianto opened his eyes – not realising that he'd closed them – and offered a false, closed-mouthed smile. "So... you're new on Harkness' team, are you?" the PC continued after a beat.

Ianto nodded in response, halting the movement as soon as he saw the mixed emotions on Davidson's face. Envy was the most prominent, but beneath that, barely hidden, was more than a hint of sympathy

"I don't know whether to congratulate you or give you my condolences" he said with a hollow laugh.

"The two aren't mutually exclusive in this case, then?" Ianto asked, and received a strange smirk in reply.

"I'll be off, sir. Enjoy your day" Davidson said, and Ianto felt firmly dismissed. Nodding again, he turned and crossed the warehouse, the heels of his leather shoes echoing sharply around him. Outside, the sun was shining brightly in an unusual display of kindness towards the average pedestrian, and Ianto turned his face towards the sky. The light warmed his still-wet clothing, eliminating the chill which had threatened to seep through to his bones.

Lost in simple sensation, one singular thought came to him. Now that he had reasonably solid evidence of what his team actually did, perhaps it was time to speak with the person who might finally let slip some truthful answers; the colleague who liked to care for him, to keep him company when able to, and who was, most importantly, a terrible liar.

_Gwen Cooper._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** Happy Sunday, people! And a big Happy Mother's Day to my fellow Brits and Europeans. Another chapter for you, which as per usual answers almost no questions and probably creates twice as many. I'm such a troll... but explanations are on their way soon. I'm behind on a few review replies, but as always, I'm immensely grateful for each and every bit of feedback I receive. I'd also like to say that I haven't forgotten about the promised Jones and Harkness sequel, but sadly I realised I'm not happy with what I've written and I fear I'm back to square one on that score. It WILL happen, I'm just a little bit trapped between this story and my job right now. But my Wodewood boys _will_ reclaim my attentions, I promise.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

"I don't know what you're on about."

Gwen's reaction had been entirely predictable, and Ianto stifled a sigh. Gwen Cooper was clearly a woman who had been an open book until joining Jack Harkness and his crew who – it was becoming clear – spent their lives dealing with covert and unsavoury operations, and she obviously struggled with secrecy. However, while her deflective techniques weren't in any way smooth or subtle, she was stubborn enough to stick by them when she really wanted to. So when Ianto returned from the warehouse to find her alone at her desk with no sign of their colleagues, and immediately asked her about what he'd discovered from PC Davidson, she firmly clammed up.

"Yes, you do" he replied with equal firmness, dragging his chair a little closer to hers and lowering his voice. "Gwen, this team chases murderous creatures and the killings go unreported. I want to know what they are, and why this is covered up."

He watched as the WPC squirmed in her seat, averting her emotive eyes. He decided to approach from a more personal angle.

"You're not like the rest of them here" he said softly, placing a hand on her forearm. "I know you've been lying to me Gwen, but I also know that you don't like doing so. If I'm going to be part of this team, I need the truth. It's clear that you're the only one who gives a damn about me, and you know you can trust me – don't you, Gwen?"

Ianto felt a little guilty for stooping to such underhand tactics – Gwen _had_ been good to him since his arrival, particularly in comparison to the others – but he was tired of waiting. The muscles in her arm twitched as she closed her hand into a loose fist, and finally met his eyes.

"Jack would be livid about you breaking into his office and answering his telephone" she pointed out. Ianto had chosen not to tell her that he'd also cracked into the file cabinet; that didn't seem like a necessary addition.

"I know, but can't you understand why I'd feel the need to?" he asked, utilising his (what had been described by several as) expressive eyes and boyish face to garner as much sympathy as possible. "I think you know as well as I do that I don't belong here... but if I can't leave, surely I have the right to know what's happening around me?"

He could see Gwen's mind working and knew that his persuasion had been successful when her shoulders relaxed, a short huff of resignation escaping her lips.

"I really shouldn't be telling you this" she murmured, leaning in closer until Ianto caught the scent of an alluringly familiar perfume that he couldn't quite place. "But you know that big laboratory in Merthyr?"

Ianto nodded. He didn't know it at all, but he wanted the details.

"It's a government research centre, not a medical facility, all in conjunction with the Ministry of Defence and that. Those creatures? They're the product of gene manipulation. Illegal testing, it is, and about two years ago a load of these crazed feral animals escaped. But there was nothing in place to sort it out, you know? They couldn't just use on-the-beat coppers to find them, so eventually it fell to Jack's lot. We've been rounding them up ever since. They breed, and they're so mangled on the inside by nuclear-grade drugs that the spawn ends up even more bloodthirsty than the parents. Most of the time, they live in the sewers, making it almost impossible to safely recover any of them... but sometimes, they come up on land, and the fatalities soon follow. So the PC's, they generally find the corpses first, and ring us straight away to make sure. We log all the details and do what we can to trace the crime back to the creature, but it's difficult. We know a lot of their hideouts by now, though."

Ianto stared at her with his mouth agape.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice escaping as little more than a hiss. "This isn't policing, this is pest control! There are chemically-enhanced killing machines on the loose, and it's down to _us_ to find them?"

Gwen shrugged. "That's our job."

Ianto was reeling, sickened even further by the entire situation than he previously had been.

"So, what do you do if you capture any?"

"We have to incinerate them" Gwen quickly replied.

"Jesus."

Ianto took his hand from her arm, where it had been clutching a little too tightly, and rubbed it over his face.

"This is insane" he muttered, a familiar headache re-manifesting itself. It made no sense. He'd been under the assumption that knowing more would help, but what could he actually do with the information now that he had it? He failed to see any pattern between what Jack's gang did and why he would have ended up here... if that was even what he was supposed to be looking for. And that was precisely the issue – he still hadn't the faintest clue what he should be finding. His analytical mind was fighting a constant battle for a loophole, an escape route however minute, but instead the seconds, hours and days ticked away around him while he remained utterly lost.

He missed his flat, he missed his job, and most of all, he missed Lisa. What would she think? He'd disappeared a week ago without a real explanation, actually _pleased_ at escaping her and the flat, and had been trapped in this vastly elaborate other world ever since. Would the other police be scouring Canary Wharf for clues, just as they had been previously for all the other victims, and return equally fruitless? Would he just be another name on case #456's list? How soon before they gave up? How soon before Lisa moved on?

"Ianto?"

Gwen's concerned voice cut into his thoughts, and her hand touched his. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine" he replied. "Thanks, Gwen."

Without meeting her eyes, he stood up and carried his chair back to his own desk, immediately pulling the notebook from beneath it and writing down everything Gwen had told him. He _had_ to find some link, a pattern, _something_ that rang a bell. Just a glimmer of sunlight. He felt as if time was running away from him, increasing his anxiety with every tick of the hand.

* * *

><p>It was 5PM when Jack's door swung open and he bellowed at Ianto to go home.<p>

"Quittin' time, DI Jones" he said with a smirk, pulling one of his customary catalogue poses. By that time, Owen, Suzie, and Toshiko had all filtered back into the office and were intermittently talking to each other, reading, or doing nothing at all. None of them so much as glanced at Ianto. He tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket, as always, and shrugged it on.

"At what point are you planning to give me some work to do, I wonder, DCI Harkness?" he asked acerbically, folding his arms over his chest in a gesture which mirrored Jack's.

"When I feel that you can handle it" Jack replied, his face maintaining that infuriating smile while his voice, by contrast, took on a note of warning. It was a tone Ianto had heard before; the one that made him go to Gwen for answers, and not the DCI, from whom he knew discovering facts would be like squeezing blood from a stone.

"Well _sir_, if that time should ever come, I'd appreciate it immensely if you'd see fit to let me know" Ianto said, and he was out of the door before he could let anything else loose. Glancing at the cheap plastic watch he'd ended up having to buy, he made a quick decision to return to the pub Jack had taken him to on his first day, and changed course. His old watch still sat beside his bed at the flat, a constant reminder of where he had come from. Every time he looked at it, he repeated the same pattern of memories in his mind – _it was a chronograph by Fossil and he'd bought it for £105 at Birmingham International Airport on the 5__th__ of October, 2009 after five days in Luxembourg_ – and somehow, the recitation of those facts made him breathe a little easier.

It was only thanks to his exceptional memory that Ianto found the pub again; as he approached, he felt the same disorientating sense of warped focus that he had the first time he saw the place, barely visible unless you were staring directly at it. It was small, certainly, and blended in with the surrounding buildings, but that didn't explain the fact that even Ianto's keen eyes strayed away from it against his will if his concentration slipped slightly. The fact that the building didn't seem to have a sign displaying its name only added to the effect.

Shaking off the vague loss of equilibrium, he shoved at the door harder than was necessary and stepped in, not entirely surprised to discover it deserted but for the red-headed barman. _Adam_, he reminded himself.

"Mr. Jones" the young man said with a smile, polishing a pint glass as he gestured for Ianto to sit down at the bar. "What can I get for you?"

"Scotch, please" Ianto replied, resting on his elbows and taking advantage of the pub's solitude in allowing his spine to slump.

"So, are you a little more settled than you were the last time I saw you?" the barman asked, pouring Ianto a generous measure. "Jack filled me in a bit, after you left. He told me you transferred from London but didn't know where you were when you turned up here."

Ianto said nothing, staring down at the intricate selection of stains on the wood of the bar as he sipped his whiskey. He was so absorbed by the pattern that the slender but strong hand falling onto his shoulder made him start.

"You can talk to me" Adam said quietly, squeezing a little, and with a rush of energy Ianto wasn't aware he possessed, it all spilled out. The night on Canary Wharf, waking up in another time, another _country_, being surrounded by a selection of people who mostly seemed to go out of their way to ignore him, the crimes they were covering up, and being completely unable to see an escape route. His voice was beginning to crack by the time he ran out of words, and when Adam's hand lifted, he was more than a little astonished that he'd just opened up to an almost total stranger. Normally it took years even for his loved ones to persuade him to spill so many of his thoughts in one breath.

"Listen, Ianto" Adam said in little more than a whisper, leaning closer as he topped up Ianto's glass, "you're not lost. You're where you are."

Ianto frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means you're here for a reason, even if it was never meant to happen."

"You believe me, then?" Ianto asked hurriedly, desperate for _somebody_ to understand.

"That's not important" Adam replied, smiling beatifically. "The point is, you have more to discover before answers can be offered. You won't be able to work this out alone."

"So who do I ask?"

"Don't ask. _Think_."

Ianto sighed and scratched absently at the bridge of his nose, polishing off his second shot.

"I can't think any more" he murmured, rubbing at a sticky patch on the wood. "Every day here I grow more exhausted, like my mind is rotting away."

"That's bullshit" Adam stated with mirth in his voice, and Ianto looked at him sharply with eyes narrowed. Adam threw his hands up in defence. "I'm sorry, but that self-pitying rubbish isn't going to wash with me. You're a strong man, Ianto, and I'm willing to bet you've been trapped in some pretty tight spots during your career. You're, what, twenty-seven? twenty-eight? And a Detective Inspector already? You are _so much_ better than this."

"Thirty-one" Ianto half-heartedly corrected him.

"My point remains" Adam continued patiently. "Your problem is that you're thinking too much about _what_ you're looking for, rather than _where_ you should be looking for it."

Ianto stopped picking at his cardboard coaster as his mind was suddenly thrown back to the endless notes he'd been writing since his arrival. _Where_ _he should be looking_... where did his colleagues go when Jack was chasing wild animals? To the same place that Gwen had made a point of _not_ showing him during her tour? He'd made the connection days ago, but he hadn't properly examined it.

"I can't believe I've been so stupid" he whispered aloud, astounded by his own idiocy. "The station..." The station with huge sections unseen, where the other officers worked late in total secrecy, and he'd been too blinded by self-absorption to truly realise that Jack's little office was nothing compared to what else they _had_ to be hiding in that building.

Adam said nothing, instead pouring Ianto one more drink with a contented smile gracing his lips.

"On the house" he said as Ianto started extracting a few coins from his trouser pocket, which were still left over – amidst a sizeable pile of change – from that original £200 he had extracted at the bank.

"Thank you" he said in a hurry, draining the last drink and relishing its burn. "Really, thankyou."

"You're welcome" Adam chuckled, and Ianto dropped a few pounds on the counter regardless before flying from the pub. A thrill of hope fed him energy and he made his way back to the station, intending to survey the building from all sides until the rest of the team was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: **Good morning! Well, a fair few people seem to think they have things figured out after last week's revelations... all I'll say is, don't be too sure. I attended the Steven Moffat school of trolling.

Thanks as always for all of the marvellous feedback, and to **riftintime** who helps me make it all just that little bit more legible.

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

It was a little over four hours later when Owen, Toshiko, Gwen, Suzie, and then finally Jack left the building. Ianto hadn't entirely expected Jack to leave at all, having wondered whether he did in fact spend his entire life there, but just after ten he stepped out with his military coat flying and stalked his way down the street like the cock of the walk. His expression was steely and determined, the same countenance he held when striding through the office on the heels of a case, and Ianto supposed he might simply be on another rather than going home. He didn't care, as long as Jack was away from the station.

With the map he had drawn out after his tour with Gwen folded neatly in his pocket, Ianto stalked towards the building and shoved at the entrance's double doors, smiling when they gave way to his weight. The fact that it remained open suggested that Jack was coming back, but it didn't matter. Ianto didn't allow himself a moment to be disconcerted by how Adam knew so much and why he wanted to help, because this was his moment to follow the man's invaluable hints, and he wasn't going to waste it. Ianto was tired of secrets. Now, he wouldn't settle for less than the truth.

Ever the cautious investigator, Ianto first explored the areas of the station he already knew. His own activities – or lack thereof – had been almost entirely contained within the main office and the reception area (which lacked a receptionist), but he utilised the streaks of moonlight beaming through the very few windows in order to follow his crude map of what he'd seen and what had been omitted from his tour. In areas where there was almost no light, he felt along the walls, attuning his senses to the sounds and textures of his surrounding area, the angles and corners, so that he knew where he was. If he'd had more time to think it through, he might have bought a torch, but he wasn't prepared to wait any longer.

Again he chastised himself for not having thought of this before, so sure that the key to all of his questions might come from understanding his colleagues and what they actually did, rather than _where_ they did it. He could only assume that Adam, as a barman, heard more than his fair share of information about Jack and his gang if the pub was indeed their local haunt. Perhaps he knew far more about what they did than they were aware of, although why he would then tell Ianto – a man he barely knew – was a mystery. Not that he wasn't immensely grateful.

Ianto wondered with a slightly vain sense of curiosity what else Jack might have said about him to Adam. The DCI remained infuriatingly impossible to gauge – a major source of irritation for Ianto. Jack had told him to stay, and he had stayed – but for what? So Jack could leave him out of anything remotely related to the goings on of the station, dismiss him early every day, and deliberately bait him when he wasn't simply ignoring or spying on him? Ianto had never struggled so much to understand a person's motives, how their mind worked, what they wanted from him. Jack remained a mystery, wrapped up in an obnoxious riddle, swathed in a big coat.

Ianto thought back to what PC Davidson had said about being part of Jack's team, and that look of commiseration which had shone from his eyes. This was far, far more than just serial-killing creatures and mysterious bosses and disappearing colleagues, and Ianto felt a thrill of adrenaline at the thought of growing close to uncovering what had been shrouded from him. He'd felt it before and had been disappointed, but it now held a certainty which had previously eluded him.

Eventually, the more familiar planes and angles ended as Ianto reached the evidence room which, though he could barely see, was undoubtedly just as empty as it had been the first time he saw it. It was in this large room with its maze of shelving that Gwen's tour had ended. This time, Ianto tucked his map back into his pocket, and slowly began to feel his way across to the other side. More than once he stumbled, and a sharp object hit him hard above his left eyebrow as he worked his way past it, but he was undeterred until he reached the far wall and began to grope for clues. As he had predicted and hoped, there was another door which would have been completely obscured from the other side. With anticipation making his pulse thump loudly in his ears, he pushed down on the handle, and the door swung open.

Whatever he was expecting to find, another dark corridor was anti-climactic in comparison. With a sigh that seemed disturbingly loud amidst the thick silence surrounding him, Ianto resigned himself to following the path ahead, unguided. Again the route was frustratingly slow going, as he pressed his back to the wall and felt his way. It seemed endless at the pace he was moving, and the air grew colder until finally, some kind of barricade stopped him. He stretched his arms across it, discovering it was yet another wall which filled the space – a dead end.

Ianto growled aloud, frustrated. He hit a random patch of wall with the side of his fist, grunting in pain and annoyance and repeating the motion, before stopping dead when he realised that the surface beneath his knuckles wasn't smooth, but textured. Lightly, his index and middle fingers traced a long groove, following it in what at first felt like a slightly misshapen circle. Feeling it for a second time, he counted the edges and realised it was a hexagon, carved into the wall.

Ianto lowered himself to his knees, bringing his face close to where he could sense his hand was roaming. Tentatively, he pushed the heel of his palm against the space within the hexagon, vaguely hoping to feel something move, but to no avail. He followed the grooves again with different fingers, tapped out random rhythms within the shape, rubbed at it with his thumb, but nothing changed.

As the anticipation of a new discovery morphed into disappointment, Ianto sighed heavily through his nose and pressed his hand flat against the wall as leverage to push himself up from his knees. An alarmingly loud beep startled him into falling backwards onto the floor, and a blue light, emanating from the edges of the hexagon, cast a blinding glow through the corridor. Splayed on the ground, Ianto watched in wonder as the entire wall slid aside, a grinding noise accompanying the motion.

"Jesus" he whispered aloud, immediately springing to his feet. Beyond, the glow of lights shone from below a curved stairwell, and the distinctive whir of technology tempted Ianto into dashing light-footedly down the steps before he even had time to think about it. He couldn't have ever expected what he found when he reached the bottom.

Computer screens, projectors, and peculiar devices all decorated the expanse he discovered. Even with the many electric lights overhead, and the humming glow of unfamiliar equipment, the place was dimmed by the dark bare bricks walls, and the air was damp. If Ianto hadn't already known it was beneath ground level, he would have been able to guess.

As he cautiously began making his way around the edges of the space, what had initially seemed like a metallic jumble sale around him started to look more like a basic office set-up. There were four large conjoined work spaces, all utterly littered with paper, odd knick knacks, Petri dishes and computer screens as deep as they were wide dominating the space. All four of them glowed with constantly-moving streams of blue script and shapes against a black background, and worn seats sat haphazardly around the area. The rest of the large square of floor space was strewn with other, smaller raised surfaces, some holding large pieces of unusual devices, and a large, low steel table set to one side which was scattered with welding equipment.

Even Ianto's tightly-controlled, organised mind struggled to take in all that he was seeing. There was so much of it, the area entirely lived-in in a way that the ground floor office wasn't, and none of it made any sense. It wasn't enormous, but the ceiling was high, giving it a cavernous feel. The main area was square, with several doorways lining the walls as if the entire place had been carved to exact specifications. He was no expert, but the technology that resided down here... the screens, the various flashing devices composed of intricate metals, the fingerprint recognition system which had let him in... it was _way_ beyond anything available in 1973.

Beyond the desk area was a sunken space lined with white tiling, and on closer inspection, Ianto realised with a grimace that it was some form of rudimentary medical bay. The six-foot steel tabletop gave it away, while the instruments which lay on a small tray beside it were more reminiscent of a mortuary than anything. The large drawer doors (human-sized, he noted) against the wall added to the grim effect.

Continuing in his wide circle, Ianto was almost amused to come across a ratty brown sofa and a coffee table, before reaching a glass door that led to something which needed no introduction. Jack's office.

It was unmistakably his, the wing-back seat and wide mahogany desk complete with leather blotter giving it away. Only he would favour that kind of vintage opulence. It was tidy, unlike the one upstairs, but again decorated with a few strange bits and pieces. Ianto found himself drawn to a bespiked ball which appeared to be covered in multi-coloured cable jacks, but he refrained from touching it.

Forcing himself not to ransack the DCI's office, Ianto backed out of the room, turning his attentions to a less obvious door which was tucked in the corner of the underground office and had no handles – just another engraved hexagon. Walking quietly over to it, he raised his hand and brushed his fingers across the inside of the shape, that same blue light (softer now, in a brighter space) shining with a beep before the door shifted. As he stepped through, the clammier, colder air of a place even deeper below the ground caressed his face and clung to his clothes unpleasantly, and he was mindful of where he stepped as he descended down another flight of stairs, in case the icy stones were equally damp.

Only four bar lights lit up the rectangular room below, and as Ianto's eyes adjusted, he realised with a sense of disapproval that the place held six cells. They stretched before him, three either side, all barred and, as Ianto took a look inside the empty cell closest to him, lacking in basic prisoner furnishings. No beds, no toilets, not even a drain, and it was freezing cold. The kind of cold that seeped quickly into your bones, Ianto thought, crossing his arms over his chest as the shivers began.

A soft moan from the far left-hand cell told Ianto that he was not alone. He quickly approached the bars, finding what appeared to be a man in blue overalls tucked into the corner, curled in on himself to the extent that Ianto could barely even see his head. Another moan escaped, muffled, and Ianto cleared his throat to draw attention to his presence.

"I'm DI Ianto Jones" he announced, his voice amplified by echoes in the grim space. "Don't worry sir, I intend to have you removed from here and placed somewhere with adequate facilities as soon as possible" he assured him, wondering whether this person even deserved to be in jail at all. He felt a swell of anger towards Jack and his team for keeping _anybody_ in such conditions, the shock of what lay just one stairwell above overtaken by the part of him which ultimately wished to protect civilians. It was his job.

The man curled in a ball didn't respond. Ianto tapped on the bars, but still nothing.

"Sir, I can't help you unless you help me first. Let me take your name, to begin with" he said, keeping his voice soft and low. The man shuffled slightly, beginning to raise his head. Ianto was startled to realise that the poor man must have been reasonably aged, judging by the wrinkled skin on the back of his balding head. As it rose further, the skull seemed somewhat misshapen, and Ianto had to wonder whether Jack had anything to do with that.

"That's right" he gently encouraged, as the man unfolded himself. The slow process of watching the man rise from his squatted position dulled Ianto's reactions, judging by the fact that when the man threw himself at the bars without preamble and snarled deafeningly at him, Ianto only just fell back quickly enough to avoid the swipe of his hand.

"F-fuck" Ianto gasped, backing up as far as possible while horror flooded his senses. The... _thing_... before him was no man, but a malformed creature with jagged, animalistic teeth, sunken eyes and exposed nostrils. The entire face was deeply wrinkled with a freakishly pronounced bone structure. The hands which continued to reach futilely through the bars at Ianto were tipped with thin, blade-like nails on the end of each finger, and as heavy boots on the stairwell thumped with increasing volume in the small prison, the creature suddenly stopped and shied away from its own attack, whimpering softly.

Ianto stared at it, breathing heavily, knowing exactly who was slowly walking towards him at a slowing pace without needing to look.

"Who are you people?" he breathed, all of his anger and frustration and confusion threatening to erupt in one go if he didn't hear some truthful answers at long last. He smelt Jack's powerful scent as their shoulders brushed against each other, side-by-side while the creature resumed its crouched position. After a deep breath the older man finally said, with a hint of strained pride;

"Torchwood."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes:** There's still 15 minutes of Sunday left... phew... long day. But nothing other than extreme creative blockage or a dead internet stops me from updating, and I'd love it if neither of those things occurred any time soon.

Thanks as always for all the marvellous feedback and reviews. You guys...

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

Ianto turned his head and glared at Jack.

"Wonderful. Thanks for clearing that up" he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, and Jack glanced towards the ceiling as if being exceptionally patient. Ianto wanted nothing more than to punch him in the mouth.

"You saw the _murdered_" Jack said slowly, reaching around Ianto to place both hands on his shoulders and push him towards the cell which housed the moaning creature. "Take a good look a the murderer."

Ianto reluctantly followed in the direction of the insistent pressure, stopping when the creature raised and turned its head as if sniffing the air.

"This is what killed the victim in the warehouse?" Ianto asked quietly, choosing not to acknowledge the fact that Jack knew he had gone to investigate it. "It's not entirely how I imagined a genetically-modified feral animal to look." He certainly hadn't expected it to be quite so... humanoid.

"It's not" Jack said, so close that Ianto felt warm breath brush the outer edge of his ear. "_Look_ at it..."

Ianto watched as it slowly rose to its feet and approached the bars once more. He instinctively leaned away but Jack's immovable form stopped him. As the creature drew closer it stared directly at Ianto, its eyes sunken and devoid of cohesion, but ultimately the raw emotion flowing from its unwavering stare was that of... loneliness. Ianto chastised himself for anthropomorphising the thing in such a sentimental way, but it truly looked lost as it cocked its head and gazed appraisingly at him, its previous snarls dulling to almost a purr.

"It's from another world."

Jack's voice was soft but firm, and far too serious. Ianto wanted to laugh.

"What does that mean?" he asked, maintaining wary eye contact with the beast before him.

"It means that this creature and all the others like it – Weevils, we call them – were born on another planet. There are a couple of hundred of them living in the sewers of Cardiff, keeping out of the way. Every once in a while one of them goes rogue, comes to the surface, attacks... we don't know why."

Ianto shrugged his way out of Jack's grip and turned to face him. The DCI's solemn expression was disconcerting, as if he was unreservedly accepting of his own story.

"I don't believe you" he said simply, rather than spouting the hows and whys on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to be angry over the continuing lies, but something about Jack's open and genuine expression stopped him.

"Would it really be the most ridiculous thing you've heard since you got here?" Jack challenged, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Cooper said they're escaped government experiments that you round up and incinerate" Ianto said, deflecting the question.

"Yeah, I know, I told her to say that" came the reply. "Look, DI Jones, I think we have a few things to talk about. Come upstairs."

Jack turned away without waiting for a response. Ianto felt the swell of frustration Jack generally inspired within him intensify, and he asked defiantly; "Why exactly should I?"

To his gratification, the older man stopped in his tracks. Jack spun on his heel, his expression stony as he swept his coat aside to shove his hands into his pockets. Ianto might have made a scathing comment about the transparency of his 'hero stance', under different circumstances.

"Because if you don't, you'll miss out on me telling you exactly how you were pulled from 2011 and dropped in 1973."

The rest of the team were at their desks when Ianto and Jack ascended the stairs – their _actual_ desks beneath the ground, not the prop desks on the floor above – and were staring unashamedly. Jack led Ianto to the sagging sofa and motioned for him to sit.

"I'd prefer to stand" he said, though he was feeling anything but calm at the prospect of discovering what had happened to him.

"Suit yourself" Jack replied with a shrug, taking his time in removing his coat and throwing it over the edge of a nearby work bench. Ianto watched as he stalled, waiting impatiently for revelation. The fact that Cooper, Harper, Sato and Costello had returned as well as Jack during the relatively short time Ianto had been in the cells, suggested that this crucial moment had been set up. But for now, the thought was put aside. There were more pressing issues at hand.

"I'd just liked to say before Jack starts, that this was entirely his idea" Owen piped up, breaking the loaded silence. Toshiko glared at him before turning her gaze to Ianto, offering a startlingly empathetic smile.

"We're all very sorry for the part we played in this" she said softly, and Ianto thought it was the most he'd ever heard her say above a murmur. While he was grateful for the sentiment, the words themselves gave him a distinct sense of nausea. He nodded at Toshiko, before returning his stare to Jack, who looked surprisingly ill at ease.

"Okay Jones, the first thing I need you to understand is that what I said in the cells is true. The Weevils are from another world. This, right here, is Torchwood. We're a secret organisation – separate from the government and way beyond the police – that protects Earth from alien threats. You kind of have to accept that before I can go any further."

Silence fell. Five sets of imploring eyes were fixed on Ianto, each one of them making him want to scream with frustration over the utter ridiculousness of the conversation.

"If you're just going to take the piss-"

"He's not taking the piss" Suzie stated firmly, fixing Ianto with a hard stare. "Listen to him."

"Fine" Ianto replied through gritted teeth, "let's pretend, hypothetically, that I believe you. Please continue."

Jack flashed a half-smile – apparently appreciative of a challenge – and sucked in a deep breath.

"There's a rift in time and space that runs right through this city" he stated, drawing a line in dead air with his finger. "Stuff falls through it all the time – the Weevils, other creatures, space junk, debris... the flotsam and jetsam of the universe. Sometimes, the rift can splinter and stretch further than it's meant to. Judging by the number of other disappearances in the same place which you kindly wrote about in that little notebook of yours, we can make an educated guess and say that in late 2011, the rift splinters and a gap big enough to push and pull large objects forms in what will eventually be called Canary Wharf. You happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; the rift sucked you in like a string of spaghetti, and spat you back out in another time. _This_ time, right where the rift is widest."

Ianto couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was like the most trite of science fiction plot points being presented to him as fact. And yet, the uncomfortable twisting sensation in his stomach felt suspiciously like fear... fear that Jack could be telling the truth.

"Go on" he prompted, voice low. Jack took another noisy breath.

"We have rift predicting equipment here. Mostly alien technology of course – this is 1973, after all – but it's pretty precise. There are certain patterns that show when a living creature is set to come through. We traced you, and found you at Bute docks as soon as you landed there. We assumed we'd be dealing with an alien threat, all prepared with our guns and sprays... imagine our surprise when you turned out to be human!"

Jack suddenly grinned at Ianto and, when that had no effect, tried it on the others. When none of his employees responded, he cleared his throat and his expression returned to one of austerity.

"Tell him the rest" Gwen said sternly, her tone disapproving. Ianto shifted his gaze to her and she stared back, her eyes brimming with apology. She'd lied about the creature – the Weevil, if he was to believe this new information about the thing – to appease him. She'd lied from the moment Ianto arrived. Yet he still couldn't blame her, and remained certain that she didn't _like_ lying to him. She mouthed '_sorry_', and he nodded in recognition.

Ianto's stare swiftly landed back on Jack, who shuffled a little uncomfortably.

"Yes, please do, I'm dying to hear what you'll come up with next" Ianto said in a warning tone.

"You're _really_ not going to like this bit" Jack murmured, his expression wary, but not apologetic. "About a year ago we decided to put a programme in place in case of humans falling through the rift, out of their time. The idea was to integrate any victims into their new lives, and let them get on with it without our interference. When you showed up, you turned out to be a cop. An investigative cop, at that. There was no way it was going to work, in your case. We needed to keep an eye on you. So, we quickly worked out a back-story for you while you were still unconscious, as well as one for ourselves. It's been kind of fun, pretending to be ordinary police, huh kids?"

Again he looked to his underlings, all of whom glared at him. Ianto was busy compartmentalising the new information, hating that it was still a more coherent concept than any other he himself had come up with. His head throbbed with the weight of it.

"You took my ID" he said, now knowing why.

"Yep" Jack replied.

"And my phone."

"Well, we couldn't have you wandering around with a mobile in 1973 if we were going to try to make you think you belonged here. Oh, and your coat was singed by the journey through the vortex, so we took that as well. Your keys are still in it. You can have it all back if you like."

"Thanks awfully."

"I didn't realise you were such a sarcastic fucker" Owen said to Ianto, nodding with approval. "I like it."

"You would" Suzie replied.

"Shut up, you lot" Jack snapped, and his officers immediately fell into line.

"You're not the police" Ianto clarified, more a statement than a question.

"No" Jack confirmed.

"And this is _actually_ 1973."

"Yeah."

"You're a secret alien-fighting organisation."

"Pretty much."

"And you thought you'd try to integrate me into 1973 by maintaining complete secrecy and making no attempt to involve me in any of your work."

"Yeah, well, after your first day, we had to take a few things into consideration" Jack admitted. "We knew we couldn't keep up the pretence of being a real police team for very long. So, we decided to let you work out the truth for yourself, be gently leading you towards it. Although I have to say, I thought you'd have got there quicker..."

Ianto felt a sharp bolt of anger shoot through him, curling his hands into fists at his sides.

"Why didn't you just tell me at the beginning?" he asked through clenched teeth. If he was to believe any of this, these people had made the last week of his life a waking nightmare with a combination of countless lies and almost constant dismissal, and for what... a social experiment? All five of his supposed colleagues looked uncomfortable.

"That hasn't worked too well for us in the past" Jack replied.

"I could have handled it" Ianto stated, lifting his chin. Jack smirked.

"Sure, that's why you almost flung yourself from the roof on your first day here."

Ianto wasn't entirely aware of stepping forward and pulling back his elbow, but the impact of his knuckles against Jack's jaw brought him firmly back into the here and now. Jack flailed as he fell, sprawling on the hard ground with a grunt of pain. None of his employees rushed to his aid.

"You sort of deserved that" Suzie pointed out.

"I've wanted to do that for a week" Ianto said, shaking his hand. "It felt better that I'd expected."

Everyone except Jack laughed. Ianto had forgotten how it felt to have somebody on his side, if briefly.

"Don't all help me up at once" Jack grumbled, using a desk as leverage.

"We won't" Toshiko replied. Jack ignored her.

"Ianto, it was for your own benefit" he stated, rubbing gingerly at his jaw and ignoring the sniggers of his team. "Just before we put the new programme in place, we had two people come through the rift from the thirties. We made the mistake of telling them straight away what had happened. They lasted a few days, and we helped them as best we could, but it didn't work out."

"One gassed himself and the other flew an aeroplane into the sea" Owen added.

"So we couldn't be certain of how you'd react. With your skill as a DI, letting you work it out for yourself with enough hints and unlocked doors to fuel your suspicions seemed the best option. Unless we managed to send you home before then."

Ianto's mind suddenly sharpened and focussed in the midst of the dense confusion flooding it.

"You can send me back to 2011?" he breathed, uncaring of how utterly insane it sounded.

"Maybe" Toshiko replied, "if we can find another rift spike of exactly the same pattern and shape, but moving in the opposite direction. A negative spike, if you will. It has to match _precisely_ the one you came through on, otherwise you could end up anywhere. If it works at all."

Ianto's hope sank to the pit of his stomach.

"How long could it take for one to appear?" he asked, no matter how futile it was.

"It could be tomorrow, it could be in ten years" Jack replied with a shrug. "It could be never. We kind of take each day as it comes, around here."

Ianto stepped closer to him, meeting one steely gaze with another. "I don't have that luxury" he replied, voice cold and hard. Jack lifted his hands in surrender, clearly having the good sense to acknowledge the danger implied in Ianto's voice, this time.

Ianto stepped back again, maintaining eye contact with Jack as he did. His mind swiftly descended back into chaos, partially aware that this entire discussion was utterly preposterous, partially relieved at having an answer, and partially livid at this group of people who'd seen fit to meddle in his life after deeming him too weak to handle their version of the truth. And he still had _so many questions_.

A wave of light-headedness swept over him, and he sank down onto the nearby sofa. It was more comfortable than it looked, and reminded him of the extreme tiredness and deep stresses he'd been carrying since his arrival. When a hand fell gently upon his shoulder and squeezed, he gathered together his remaining scraps of energy, and raised his head to look into Jack's regretful face.

"You need a drink" he stated. Not a question, not a polite invitation – a command. And it was too appealing a concept to ignore.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Notes:** Eh up, lovelies. Happy Easter, for those who celebrate! I celebrate having chocolate for breakfast. I celebrate that big time. I am riding quite the sugar high right now.

Anyway, I meant to say last week a big THANK YOU for helping me break 100 reviews! Absolutely wonderful. Keep 'em coming - you've no idea how useful the feedback and encouragement is to me. Oh, and on a slight tangent, did anybody see the Jack Daniel's-style Jack Harkness t-shirt on Qwertee a couple of weeks ago? I bought one, and it is epic. Congrats to anybody else who nabbed one.

On with the show!

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

"Whiskey please, Adam. A bottle."

Jack's request from beside him reminded Ianto of where he was, and he sighed heavily into his hands. The journey to the pub had been somewhat of a haze. He remembered Jack helping him up from the sofa, shooing him along the stairs and corridors back to the ground floor office – a trip which felt less than half as long as before, with the aid of a guide who knew his way and a lights shining from within the ceiling panels – and he recalled being bundled into the Land Rover. Without him realising it, they were suddenly inside Adam's pub. He hadn't even noticed that their colleagues weren't with them.

Ianto peered through the gaps in his fingers as Jack poured him a generous measure. He'd never been one to feel that itching need for alcohol, even as a student, but right now he couldn't think of anything more enjoyable.

Except for going home.

"You're actually taking all this remarkably well" Jack said conversationally, as if it was all a game to him.

"I don't believe a word you've said" Ianto clarified, picking up his tumbler with a trembling hand and taking a healthy sip.

"Yet you're still here."

"What choice do I have?"

All conversation halted for several minutes. As per usual, the pub was empty but for the two of them, and while Ianto drank his Scotch with reverence, Jack was again supping from a tall glass of something clear.

"How did you fabricate those transfer papers so quickly? The ID, the bank account... how?" Ianto asked into his glass, slowly swirling the amber liquid.

He heard Jack clear his throat, as if preparing for a lengthy tale.

"As soon as we found you with your police badge in hand and made the snap decision to take you in as one of us, I radio'd the station and had Toshiko falsify some official orders ready for our return. I knew you'd need proof. For the new ID, we just copied the same image from your real badge, and as for the bank account, that was something we already had set up as part of the rift victims scheme. All we needed was a name. Think of it as compensation."

Ianto huffed in disgust and drained his glass.

"And the flat? I suppose that's part of the scheme, too..."

"You don't sound very grateful."

A fresh surge of anger sharpened Ianto's clouded mind and he turned to narrow his eyes at Jack, vexed further when he caught the man smirking.

"Oh, excuse me, I should be over the sodding moon about being treated like a human laboratory rat" he hissed, pouring himself another whiskey. He glanced at Jack, whose expression had morphed into something more sober.

"It really did seem like the best way" he said quietly, his own eyes darting away from Ianto and towards some spot in the middle distance. Ianto was startled once more by the ease with which Jack could switch moods.

"It wasn't" he replied, and Jack huffed out a short laugh. "So who are you all really?"

Jack turned back towards him, and it was obvious that the cogs of his mind were working double time. Ianto sincerely hoped he wasn't thinking up more lies. He didn't want to have to bruise his own knuckles all over again.

"Torchwood was formed in 1879 by Queen Victoria as a means of defending Earth against extraterrestrial threats" Jack began, maintaining eye contact. "The organisation has been running across Britain for almost a century now. My team and I... well, we're almost all that's left. We're not the only protectors of the planet, but there's not much else left of Torchwood bar the Cardiff branch. I recruited my officers myself and they all have their own stories, but they're not mine to tell."

Ianto stared at him for a long moment as he filed away the new information, choosing to take the words as they were stated rather than starting to analyse them just yet.

"Why Wales?" he asked.

"Like I said, this is where the rift is widest. It's the only one on the planet, cutting through Wales and seeping into the Atlantic Ocean, which we can't really control so well."

"Are there aliens in the sea?" Ianto asked, incredulous.

"What, you think H. P. Lovecraft just came up with the Cthulhu all by himself?"

Ianto startled himself by laughing aloud, the sound tinged with hysteria. Jack's musical chuckle followed, and silence fell for a moment before the absurdity of it all once again caught up with Ianto.

"What about the other victims? The ones from my notebook... I take it they're not here."

Jack's smile disappeared again. "No. We haven't had anybody come through matching the names you listed."

"Where are they?" Ianto asked.

"They could be anywhere. Other times, other worlds... sometimes the vortex isn't so forgiving. It can quite easily kill. You got lucky."

"Funny, I don't feel it" Ianto mumbled, polishing off another shot.

"There's always a chance we can send you back. I can't guarantee it, but it's possible."

Ianto rubbed at his forehead with the heel of his palm. _It's possible_. But what if it never happened? What of his sister, his friends... Lisa? Again he imagined his colleagues finally giving up the search, perhaps having a bodiless funeral for him, Lisa moving on, finding another man... the thought made him nauseous. He had to focus on something else, even if it was the bizarre sci-fi fairytale spewing from Jack's mouth.

"Why do you have the police station at all if your work is done from underground? I assume everything within the ground floor building was for my benefit..."

Jack smirked. "Yeah, sorry about that. It's just a front. It came in useful when we brought you in, and I knew that not doing much to it would pique your curiosity even further. Everybody knows it's the special operations station and not the ordinary police, so we very rarely get actual visitors, and when we do, Gwen's sent up to deal with them."

"Is that why she's the only one in uniform?" Ianto asked. He'd wondered why Gwen was in full WPC dress every day and the other women weren't.

"Kind of. Gwen is our liaison with the police, in a sense. She straddles the two camps. She can get information for Torchwood which wouldn't otherwise be available, and the police like having an officer who's a bit of a mascot for extraterrestrial crime-fighting, so they keep her close. She still doesn't really _have_ to wear the uniform, but it makes her seem more approachable and trustworthy when we're dealing with civilians, and it's sort of her personal armour. Like you and your suits."

Ianto glanced down at himself and his sombre black-and-white ensemble.

"I like the suits" Jack clarified, nudging Ianto gently. Ianto ignored him.

"What was the script on those files in your little shed?" he asked, remembering the pages and pages of odd symbols.

"Galactic Standard" Jack replied, as if that fully explained it. "Nice job of breaking in, by the way. Almost seamless."

"It's a skill" Ianto said distractedly, running his finger around the rim of his glass. "That door down to your actual base... it opened for me when I pressed my hand against it..."

"We took your fingerprints when you arrived. I programmed the door to respond to you when you finally worked it all out, and to send me an alert at that moment."

"Jesus" Ianto groaned, feeling increasingly violated. "So when I found it tonight, you came rushing back and brought the rest of the team with you... you've just been waiting, all week, for me to make this discovery on my own... and all this time, I've been thinking I'm either in a coma, drugged, or just insane, for a fun little team-building exercise?"

He barely noticed his voice growing louder and higher pitched, as Jack stared impassively back at him, until Adam appeared in front of him holding up two placating palms.

"Ianto, calm down, okay? Jack did his best" he said softly, and Ianto felt his mouth fall open.

"Hang on, even _he's_ in on it?" he cried, crossing his forearms on the bar and letting his head fall heavily upon them. He wanted to cry, scream, tear his hair out – anything. Anything to pull him away from the increasingly maddening circumstances surrounding him.

"Adam hears everything that goes on in this place" Jack said calmly, his voice muffled by the fact that Ianto's shoulders were around his ears. "The perception filter around this place ensures all our secrets are otherwise kept."

Ianto cursed his natural curiosity as he lifted his head to ask, "the _what_?"

"Perception filter. Ever noticed that the entire building is kind of difficult to see unless it's pointed out?"

Ianto reluctantly nodded.

"Well, it's because the place is hidden by this filter. It doesn't make it invisible as such; kind of a corner-of-the-eye thing, and if you don't know it's there, it just doesn't register. Which means that nobody but Torchwood comes in here."

Ianto frowned. That certainly explained why looking directly at the pub always made him feel disorientated, even if it made no scientific sense.

"How does it work?" he asked, irritated by the hint of wonder that entered his voice.

"No idea, but if I were to guess, I'd say that there was once a dimensionally transcendental chameleon circuit place immediately in front of the building, which welded its perception properties to a spacial-temporal rift."

Ianto felt his own eyes widen as Jack gave his explanation without so much as pausing for breath.

"Of course, that seems... plausible" he stated, clearing his throat. "But what do other people see, then? A bloody great gap between the shops? Doesn't anybody ever walk into it?"

Jack rolled his eyes dramatically.

"That is so Welsh" he mumbled. Ianto scowled at him, straightening his back.

"What is?" he asked defensively.

"I show you something amazing; you find fault" Jack replied with a smirk. Adam laughed, before he caught the full brunt of Ianto's glare.

"I hear pretty much everything that happens at Torchwood" he confirmed, shrugging apologetically.

"So why is a barman, presumably not part of the Torchwood team, allowed to know all of the intimate goings-on of a supposedly secret alien-fighting organisation?" Ianto asked with impatience, his glance shifting between Adam and Jack.

"Adam's not just a barman. He... well, he found us, some time ago. He tried to become our friend in a... let's say _invasive_ way..." he smirked at Adam, who seem to shuffle a little in discomfort, "but in the end we worked out a way to harness his powers in other directions, and found him something to do."

"Harness his powers?" Ianto repeated, beginning to feel the buzzing tingle of alcohol affect his fingers and toes.

"Adam's an alien" Jack said bluntly. "He used to feed on memories, warping them to include himself in people's minds, keeping him alive. This had certain repercussions and didn't go down too well..." again he smiled at Adam, this time reassuring, and the young redhead smiled back. "Now, he's able to find his sustenance in human emotion. As such, he makes the perfect barman. We all come in here, we discuss cases with him, and when we're stressed or peeved or upset, he's able to vent that out with just a touch, until you either feel better or find some kind of clarity. So it's mutually beneficial, really."

Ianto suddenly remembered what had happened just a few hours before, when he had come to the pub looking for answers.

"You touched my shoulder" he stated, pointing at the young man. "You touched my shoulder and I told you everything that had happened to me."

"I tend to have that effect" Adam said, a little pride in his voice. "It's not damaging at all, I promise."

"And... you told me to look at the station for answers..."

Ianto stared at the bar as he pieced the evening together, vaguely aware of Jack turning to Adam.

"You did?" he heard him ask.

"I _hinted_" Adam explained.

Ianto raised his eyes and drew them slowly over Adam's body.

"You _look_ human" he murmured, finding it somewhat of a stretch to believe that the person before him was born on another world.

"I wouldn't last very long on Earth if I didn't" Adam said. "We don't have solid forms on my planet, anyway. I didn't have to possess anybody, if that's what you're worried about. I built this myself."

He indicated to his own slight body, and Jack let out a wolf whistle.

"Nice workmanship" he commented with a wink.

"Behave, Captain" Adam retorted, tucking a corner of his tea towel into his belt loop, and strolling away from the pair.

"That isn't just a nickname, is it?" Ianto asked as he pulled at the edges of the whiskey bottle label.

"Nope. I really am a Captain, and you're more than welcome to call me that" Jack replied with a suggestive chuckle.

Ianto had had enough of the laughing, the teasing, the joking, and the flirting. He turned in his seat, looking Jack directly in the eye, though it proved more difficult to focus than he anticipated.

"Okay Captain, let's say I believe anything you've just told me – which I don't, because it's bollocks – but we'll pretend, hypothetically, that I do... what do you want from me? What am I supposed to do now?"

A little near-whimper of panic and woe crept into his voice, and he swallowed hard against the heady brew of emotions which threatened to burst from him in the form of one long scream. There was simply too much to take in, he was blinded by it, and what terrified him the most was how _believable_ Jack, his team, and even Adam made it all sound. As absurd as it was, the way they explained and replied to each of his questions was too flawless. Too elaborate. Too feasible, despite itself. But _aliens_? Rifts in time and space? His brain throbbed, momentarily darkening his vision.

All levity left Jack's face as he, too, turned to Ianto, presumably to put him at ease a little. It worked.

"Okay, Ianto, I'll level with you – I want you on my team."

Ianto simply stared back at him, unsure of how to respond. After a lengthy silence, Jack continued.

"We need somebody like you. As soon as I discovered that you were a DI from 2011, I knew you'd be useful to us. The reason we didn't immediately tell you... it wasn't entirely because of our track record on that front, but also because I wanted to see how you'd cope and the processes you'd go through to work out what had happened. I suppose I didn't really take into account the grief factor..."

Ianto narrowed his eyes at the man who was suddenly sporting an apologetic smile.

"I forget how complex you guys can be" he said quietly and cryptically. "But the fact remains that you're smart, with an investigative mind, skills in criminal psychology, and a knowledge of the future. Torchwood's got a vacancy, and I'd like you to stay. In return, we'll be keeping all eyes on the rift predictor and as soon as that negative frequency comes through, _bam_, we'll send you home."

Ianto closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, internally weighing up his options. Option... singular. He couldn't do anything but stay, if remaining with Jack Harkness' band of underground shut-ins and monsters was the only way he could potentially return to 2011. And that was all he wanted.

"You've made the last week of my life a living hell" he said dully, his eyes remaining closed.

"I know. I'm sorry" he heard Jack reply, and opened his eyes in surprise at the sincere tone. Jack's returning gaze was inquisitive, searching, hopeful. _He must know that I can't decline._

Ianto sighed again, shook his head, then drained the last of the bottle into his glass.

"What choice do I have?" he muttered, repeating himself, as he downed the final dregs.

"You're as screwed up as the rest of the team" Jack declared in a proud tone, raising his own glass. "Welcome to Torchwood."


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Notes:** Afternoon, lovelies! Many thanks as ever for the very generous feedback, love, hits, reviews, messages, and so on. It all makes me far happy than should be legal.

Just FYI, I'm almost out of buffer chapters now (which makes me very anxious, even though I've never used this system before), and the one buffer chapter I DO have is probably going to be scrapped because I'm not happy with it. I had all sorts of plans about doing lots of writing this week during every waking hour that I'm not at work in order to get nicely ahead of myself, but it turns out that until the weekend, I'm basically booked up with observations, appraisals, and induction deadlines which I didn't realise were quite so frighteningly close. So this is just an advanced warning in case chapters don't get uploaded in time... it's work's fault. Lucky I adore the job, really.

For now, on with the show...

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

"Hey! Get up, put your trousers on, and get out! Always breaks my heart to say those words..."

"Bugger off" Ianto grumbled into his pillow, having hoped that if he kept his eyes closed and his breathing regular as Jack once again let himself into the flat, he'd leave him alone. Of course, the mere thought was folly.

"No can do, DI Jones. We've got a case, and you're coming with me to investigate the scene."

Jack's voice roamed across the room, his statement punctuated by a brutal tug on the curtains which exposed Ianto's defenceless eyelids to the cold light of day. Pain sliced through across his delicate brain, reminding him regretfully of the previous evening. Too much whiskey in too short a time. But he remembered it all – including, to his intense chagrin, the part where Jack insisted on helping him get undressed out of his suit and tucked into bed. At least the migraine was taking his mind off the acute embarrassment.

Something landed across his legs with a soft thump – clothing, he assumed – and the scrape of a drawer felt like a cheese grater dragging across the inside of his skull.

"_Nice_ underpants" Jack commented, and Ianto opened his eyes just in time to see a pair flung towards him. Despite his slow reactions under the circumstances, he caught them in one hand and held them defensively against his chest.

"They were all I could find" he replied, his voice sounding hoarse and miserable even to himself. Jack turned back towards him, looking as bright-eyed and energetic as ever, and smirked as he folded his arms.

"Want to borrow some of mine?" he suggested, one eyebrow twitching.

"Give me strength" Ianto muttered to himself, struggling into a sitting position. He closed his eyes and brought his hand to his own forehead, half-heartedly attempting to brush away the pain. Jack chuckled, the sound not conducive to soothing Ianto's discomfort, and he tried his hardest to glare. Judging by the grin on Jack's face, it wasn't working.

"Ten minutes. I'll be waiting in the car" he ordered with a jaunty wink, and with a dramatic flourish of his ridiculous coat, he left

Ianto fell back onto his bed, choosing to grab just _one more minute_ of semi-comfort. His thoughts remained in disarray, disbelief unhindered even by the previous night's alcohol consumption, but perhaps... perhaps throwing himself into whatever Torchwood did would at least distract him while he waited for that passage home. If all he could do was wait, at least he didn't have to drive himself insane with the agony of being left alone with his thoughts.

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><p>"John Tucker, twenty-five years old, born in Penarth... well, fat lot of use <em>that<em> goldmine of information is."

Ianto's eyes remained on the scene, but he was vaguely aware of Owen flicking the police notebook closed and tossing it casually back towards a jumpy PC.

"Thanks mate; leave this one to us."

"Yes, sir."

The young officer left them to it, the heels of his sharp black shoes echoing down the bleak, damp alley where Ianto found himself. The sky was the same battleship-grey as the cracked Tarmac, making the grim scene spread across it stand out in its gory reds and faded blues.

"What have we got, Owen?" Jack asked, and Ianto glared at his boss' back as the man stepped casually over the recumbent corpse.

"Stabbing."

"Really?" Ianto replied sarcastically, gesturing towards the thick smear of congealed blood soaking through the back of John Tucker's denim jacket.

"He speaks!" Owen exclaimed in faux-surprise, his upper lip twitching in a sneer. Ianto had pointedly not said a word since joining Jack and Owen in the Land Rover, too lost within his own thoughts for idle conversation.

"So where's the entry wound?" Jack interrupted.

"I don't know yet" Owen admitted, leaning closer to Ianto than Ianto was comfortable with, but he'd be damned if he was going to show it. "But the fact that there are no obvious markings makes it all the more likely that this was alien. The coppers obviously thought so, or they wouldn't have called us in."

"Uh-huh. Time of death?"

"Around midnight" Ianto stated. "I can smell alcohol, and unless pub closing times have changed drastically, midnight seems about right for the level of delayed rigor mortis after last night's temperatures."

"I'm surprised you could even feel the cold, with the amount of whiskey you put away" Jack added in a jovial tone. Ianto ignored him, pushing himself up from his squatted position. The air above the victim smelt fresh and clean compared to the scents of dead flesh and lager which now clung to the pavement, and he sucked in several deep, cool breaths.

"Hey, look what I found" Owen exclaimed, plucking a long strip of blue and white fabric from the muddy guttering near John Tucker's feet. "Cardiff Blues fan?"

"Hmm. Maybe the killer is a Swansea supporter" Jack replied nonchalantly. Ianto felt a now-familiar flare of irritation towards the man and his apparently inability to take even death seriously.

"Maybe we should take him back to Torchwood's lair and see what we can work out about his murder" he stated sharply, barely resisting the urge to punctuate his suggestion by labelling Jack an insufferable twat. Simply thinking it was almost enough make him smile.

* * *

><p>Returning to Torchwood's base ('The Hub' as Jack had pretentiously labelled it) was a new experience in the light of day. The man insisted, as they strode through the false ground-level offices where Ianto had been lied two for seven straight days, that he was designing a way to get down to the base more quickly. Some kind of lift, perhaps, or even an escalator. As it was, there were two entrances – the long way through the guts of the building, or the short way which required wading knee-deep through raw sewage. The former was more popular, he admitted. Even then, the 'long way' seemed to only take a minute or two now that the route was lit and Ianto was following his male colleagues, who were striding ahead at a confident pace, Jack with a corpse flung over his shoulder as if it were nothing. As they reached what Ianto had initially thought to be a dead end, he discovered that, on closer inspection, the light-up hexagon engraved into the metal also had a 'T' for 'Torchwood' printed in the middle of it. How utterly Jack to be so ostentatious about the minor decorative details in an underground base.<p>

The innards of The Hub also seemed different now that the shock had dulled. They had returned to find Toshiko frantically tapping at her keys, while Gwen and Suzie leaned over some metallic tech on the welding table. All three of them trailed Ianto with their eyes as he entered, and he ignored them, unwilling to allow them to see either his lingering hurt or his fledgeling acceptance. Instead, he stared straight ahead as he trailed Jack and Owen towards the medical bay, and watched as his so-called colleague (was Harper even a sergeant? Ianto had assumed that the police-based hierarchical titles were fake, but perhaps they used them regardless) got to work immediately, deftly stripping Tucker of his clothing, cleaning up the copious amounts of blood from his back, and eventually locating the entry wound.

"A-ha!" Owen shouted in victory, causing everybody else gathered around the cramped autopsy area to start. Gwen and Toshiko sat close together on the short stairwell, Suzie and Jack were leaning against the railing above, and Ianto remained close to the trolley, but not so close that Owen could accuse him of getting in the way.

"Here, at the nape" Owen pointed with a gloved finger. Ianto leaned closer and squinted down at the barely-visible nick in the greyish skin, directly between two vertebrae. The death would have been mercifully instantaneous, at least.

"Precise" Jack stated from above, sounding almost approving.

"Almost surgical" Owen replied.

"And what exactly makes you think this is alien?" Ianto felt compelled to ask. Their had to be a reason for such warped, ridiculous logic. This may have been their livelihood, but were they not jumping to conclusions just a tad? A little part of Ianto's psyche mocked him for remaining in denial about Torchwood and what it supposedly represented. Ianto ignored it. He was getting good at that.

"I've never seen anything like this before. Even the most well-orchestrated of human murders is clumsy, messy in comparison – this is elegant. Whatever killed this man wanted something _from_ him. Something physical, perhaps. Chemical. I need to run blood samples to test for alien traces from whatever the thing stuck into him."

The crack of a rubber glove being peeled away ricocheted sharply against the walls.

"Shame he'll miss the match tomorrow. Bet he was looking forward to that" Suzie said, and Ianto glanced up to see her toying with a clear plastic bag containing the Cardiff Blues scarf.

"What match?" he asked, folding his arms.

"The Cardiff versus Swansea match?" Suzie drawled in reply, as if Ianto were a particularly slow child.

"Which you neglected to mention" Ianto huffed with annoyance. "In which case, this could be nothing more than a grudge attack; did you ever consider that?"

"If this was rugby related, the victim would have serious injuries" Owen pointed out, huffing a sigh.

"He's dead; that's _quite_ serious" Ianto replied with equal volumes of sarcasm.

"He'd have contusions, abrasions... he'd have been beaten up, not stabbed in the back of the neck" Owen added, making a sweeping gesture towards the corpse. "Not with that kind of precision, out in the open, at night."

"You don't know that" Ianto argued, though the statement was feeble. "The murderer could have had experience in medical anatomy."

"Tell me you've ever seen a wound that shape, in this context, then I might take your theories seriously" Owen responded, seemingly done with the conversation as he began to mount the stairwell. Ianto grudgingly leaned back down to the corpse, eyeing the wound. He hadn't seen it before, but the edges of the puncture were shaped in a minute zigzag pattern, perfectly angular in its irregularity. He squinted at it a moment longer, startled when he straightened up once more to find that Jack had descended the stairwell quietly enough for him not to notice, and was now on the opposite side of the trolley, close enough for the scent of his aftershave to smother even the tang of decomposition.

"What's it going to take for you to believe?" Jack asked quietly, quieter than Ianto had ever heard him speak, looking not at Ianto but at John Tucker's nape.

"Proof" Ianto replied, knowing precisely how absurd that sounded. His circumstances, this technology, _the creature in the cells_... still he needed one more thing. Something else to confirm it. Something absolutely inarguably real.

Jack didn't scoff, didn't question him, didn't even look up. His own reply was a short, simple, confident "fine", before spinning on his heel and retreating with his swagger intact.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Notes:** Evening, all! Well, you may have noticed that I didn't upload last week, because - as predicted (and indeed warned), real life got in the way and it just wasn't possible. But eventually I got this chapter sorted, and I'm a little bit ahead of myself again, so I've decided to treat you a day early. Yet again I haven't replied to all reviews, I know, but this will be rectified. You have no idea how much I cherish all the support.

Massive thanks to** riftintime** for once again saving my arse!

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

"So what's he told you?"

Ianto started at the voice in his ear, almost dropping the palm-sized metallic pebble he'd been fiddling with. He placed it gingerly back upon the steel tabletop where he'd found it, and turned to find four eager faces staring directly at him. Toshiko, who had asked the quiet but insistent question, stood before him with her arms folded, while the others remained in their seats with their attentions diverted entirely from their work. Ianto waited for the distant snap of Jack's office door before replying:

"About what?"

"Himself!" Suzie replied with a hint of exasperation. Ianto gave them all a sweeping frown.

"Nothing."

"Come off it, you're a copper, you're trained to ask questions" Owen interrupted, rolling his eyes.

"I think you know Captain Harkness well enough to be aware that he doesn't _answer _questions" Ianto replied, folding his own arms in a defensive gesture. "Why are you asking me? I've been here a _week_. You must know plenty about him."

"Bugger all" Gwen stated, causing the others to nod in agreement. "Not who he is, not where he comes from... nothing. Drives me crazy."

"Except that he's gay" Owen added casually, to which Toshiko tutted.

"He's not" she replied, shaking her head. "I've watched him in action. He'll shag anything if it's gorgeous enough."

"I'm sorry, but period military is not the dress code of a straight man" Owen said, raising his hands. "He's gay."

Ianto watched his colleagues squabble over their boss' sexuality with no small degree of annoyance, until the pettiness of the conversation drove him to intervene.

"Look, I don't care" he announced, cutting through their chatter.

"What, you're not in the least bit curious?" Suzie scoffed, as all attention was once again turned to Ianto.

"About who or what he's sexually attracted to? No" Ianto replied with an eye-roll of his own.

"About him in general" Gwen clarified, her hands spreading in a helpless gesture. "He must have his reasons for keeping everything a secret..."

"All this technology and you can't just look him up?" Ianto asked with a shrug.

"Yeah, because we hadn't thought of that" Owen muttered. Ianto pretended not to hear him.

"No official records of a Jack or even John Harkness existing at any point during the last fifty years" Toshiko stated. "There's no such person."

"Maybe his identity is classified" Ianto suggested.

"Doesn't stop us wanting to know why, or who he is" Suzie said in a low, conspiratorial voice, strolling away from her desk and towards one of the as-yet-unexplored doors.

Ianto watched her leave, vaguely aware of his other colleagues moving around him; apparently the conversation was over. But, irritating as the concept was, Ianto couldn't deny to himself that he _was_ curious about Captain Jack Harkness. All of his dislike for the man couldn't cloud the fact that he'd intrigued Ianto from day one, because even with all of his investigative training and natural intuition, Jack's behaviour and sometimes dramatic changes in mood still drew up question marks. He idly wondered if those glimpses of sympathy – perhaps even empathy – he'd seen were more even than his colleagues had witnessed in all their time with him, but dismissed the thought immediately. How a man could efficiently lead such a small, clearly close-knit team without telling them a single thing about himself, Ianto couldn't fathom.

* * *

><p>"Where's my favourite Jones in the whole of Wales?" Jack bellowed across the Hub, striding purposefully towards his staff with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and a sheen of sweat on his brow. Ianto huffed in annoyance – his natural reaction to Jack's presence, it seemed – and turned on the high stool which Gwen had found for him. She had been showing him Torchwood's computer system; it was beyond intricate, and Ianto was stunned. Not only was it a seemingly endless electronic resource, but it also controlled everything in the Hub, including the security systems. Gwen had just quietly offered to show Ianto a few of the more recent alien files, and he'd been hesitating in his response when Jack hailed him. The interruption left a small part of him oddly relieved.<p>

"Yes, Captain?" Ianto responded with as much condescension as he could muster, making Jack – predictably – grin. The man made it very difficult for Ianto to behave as professionally as he would normally be inclined to do, but Jack only seemed to find his lack of respect amusing.

"Now now, Detective Inspector, do I need to teach you a lesson about insubordination? You don't want to know what my punishment techniques entail... or maybe you do?"

Ianto heard Gwen snort with laughter beside him, and watched as Jack's gaze swept dramatically over his body. He surprised himself by realising that he was already becoming immune to Jack's lechery, or at least the over-the-top act thereof.

"What exactly is it that you want, sir?" he replied evenly, raising himself to full height, which was barely an inch off Jack's. The Captain's smile didn't falter as he let his flirtation go, and handed Ianto a worn manilla file.

"I have your proof" he replied, indicating that Ianto open the folder. He did so, and found himself staring at an elaborate sketch of a wiry, six-legged creature with delicate pincers tipping four of its limbs, drawn upon coarse, sepia paper. Scribbled in one corner was an illegible signature, next to the numbers '1912'.

"What's this?"

"Torchwood called it a _Sajuiin_. This is the only record we have of it, with just a handful of notes, but something we can glean from this is that the creature left two victims in 1912 drained of spinal fluids and bone marrow. According to this" Jack paused to shake a written report out from behind the drawing, laying it on top and pointing to the beautiful cursive handwriting, "Torchwood's medic at the time opened up the skull to find the brain withered and dehydrated, completely dry, when the victim had only been dead for a matter of hours. He also discovered that while all of the organs were intact, all of the large bones were hollow and brittle, thanks to having been emptied by this alien."

"You think this is what we're looking at with Tucker's case?" Gwen asked, turning from her computer to join in the conversation.

"Quite possibly" Jack replied with a nod. "It's been over sixty years, but maybe another Sajuiin has slipped through looking for a hit."

Ianto stared down at the paper in his hands, shifting the written report aside once more to take another long look at the drawing. It brought back memories of a book that he was fascinated by in primary school, one filled with seventeenth century sketches of fantastical animals drawn by early visitors to The Americas, each more ridiculous than the last. To the Brits who would never know better, the images must have appeared frightening and beautiful, Ianto always thought. But Ianto was a grown, educated man, and looking at the image before him gave him a sense of total incredulity. Surely even Jack couldn't place all of his faith in one single, aged image.

"I still think this could be an ordinary attack" he said, closing the file. There was something on the edge of his mind, something other than just the doubt, which felt familiar and crucial. "I want to talk to anybody else who might have been at the same pub at the same time last night."

Jack sighed, his tight expression clearly intended to ward Ianto off, which only made him more determined.

"You want us to hold off the post mortem until you've finished your little investigation?" Jack drawled in a mocking tone. Ianto briefly glanced at the still-pink mark on Jack's jaw where his knuckled had impacted the bone, and wondered how a matching bruise on the other side would look.

"Yes" he replied. "Give me an hour to prove to you that you're jumping to conclusions."

Jack plucked the file from Ianto's hands and held it out towards Owen whilst maintaining eye contact with the DI.

"Okay, you've got an hour" he said in a low tone laced with warning. "Not a minute more. And when you come back with your tail between your legs, maybe you'll let us get on with our jobs?"

Jack left the question open, turning on his heel and striding back towards his office. Ianto's gaze followed his broad back until Owen caught his eye, smirking with the file in hand as he walked towards the mortuary. Something blunt nudged Ianto's hip and he found Gwen grinning up at him, one eyebrow twitching northwards.

"For somebody who supposedly knows nothing about him, you're _really_ good at pushing his buttons" she murmured with approval, and perhaps a dash of implication which Ianto couldn't quite place. Perhaps he was imagining it.

"Just trying to do my job" Ianto replied, patting his pocket to confirm the placement of his notepad, and stretching his limbs as he prepared to find his way back to sunlight. Well, daylight, at least.

"So you're _not_ trying to wind him up?" Gwen asked, her fiendish smile not wavering for a moment. Ianto, to his own surprise, found himself smiling back.

"No; that's a bonus."

Gwen's laughter followed him as he mounted the steps.

* * *

><p>After quickly liaising with the police via the ever-helpful PC Davidson, Ianto made his way to the pub where John Tucker had enjoyed his last drink, silently bemoaning the fact that his allotted hour would be severely stretched by the fact that he was forced to walk everywhere, since he had still not been offered the use of any kind of transport. The pub was as dingy as he'd expected, inhabiting a handful of mid-afternoon patrons who looked as if they may have been born on the very seats they now occupied. Drawing in a breath, Ianto approached the bar and moved to place his hands upon the wooden counter-top, before deciding against it and reaching for the newold ID in his jacket pocket.

"Excuse me" he hailed the wretched-looking barman who shuffled towards Ianto with a glare of disdain. "DI Ianto Jones" he introduced himself, hesitating a moment before he added "Special Ops with the South Wales constabulary. Mind if I have a word?"

The barman simply shrugged, which Ianto took to mean the affirmative.

"It concerns the incident which occurred on West Bute Street yesterday evening. I've been informed that the victim was last seen in this pub before the attack took place. Were you here yesterday evening, Mr...?"

"Sherman. Evan Sherman" the man replied in a low, disinterested voice, showing a flash of brownish teeth as he spoke. "Aye, I was 'ere. So was this lot." He made a sweeping gesture towards the men Ianto had rightly assumed were regulars. "That Tucker lad was shouting his mouth off, he was. Asking for trouble. I'm not one for sport myself, but he came in with 'is Cardiff scarf and started going on about the game... so of course, the minute somebody wearing Swansea colours walks in, he was all over 'im."

Ianto placed one hand on the bar and leaned closer, no longer caring for the state of the wooden surface as his other hand reached for the notepad in his pocket. A thrill shot through him, tingling through the tips of his fingers, as his natural passion for the job forced adrenaline through his veins.

"He drew the Swansea fan into an argument?" he asked, flipping his book to a fresh page and beginning to scribble in shorthand.

"Aye" Sherman replied, making a slow-motion show of picking his nose. Ianto fought against the urge to grimace. "Kept baiting the poor bugger. He's an alright sort... bit simple, you know the type, and he kept his cool with Tucker until the stupid sod challenged him to a fight. They'd both had five too many Brains' by then, 'course, and Eugene was drunk enough to take Tucker up on the offer. I told 'em to take it outside, neither of 'em came back in, and next thing I know, Tucker's dead."

"Eugene...?" Ianto prompted, furiously writing up his notes.

"Jones, I think 'is name is. Young lad, innocent as anything; a good 'un by all accounts. He ain't capable of killing another man, if that's what you're thinking."

_You'd be surprised what a person is capable of_, Ianto thought to himself. He said nothing, but offered an impassive gaze and nodded curtly to Sherman, disinclined to shake his hand for hygiene reasons.

"Thank you, Mr. Sherman. You've been extremely helpful."

Sherman shrugged once more and Ianto left the pub, gratefully sucking in fresh air as he did so. Thinking over the conversation, he found himself wandering towards the crime scene once more. The pavement was scrubbed clean, as if nothing had ever happened, and Ianto leaned against the wall as he thought the whole thing over. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how the fight might have transpired; slurred but passionate words about their opposing teams easily turning physical, violent, Jones shoving Tucker against the bricks, perhaps? Maybe a screw or a nail was poking through the mortar, sharp enough to pierce through Tucker's spinal cord?

Ianto shook his head, sighing through his nose. No. He was clutching at straws, now. He would have had the contusions Owen mentioned had there been an actual fight, and the entry wound wasn't the right size or shape for something pointed. No, there was something else... something lingering at the edges of his mind, and if he could just reach it...

Ianto shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, frustrated, and there it was. Images rushed into his mind as he fingered the keys that had been returned to him by Gwen earlier in the day; keys which were of no use to him currently, but were an enormous comfort simply to keep close. And now, they were a clue.

Pulling the bunch from his pocket, Ianto opened his eyes and singled out the brass Yale key to his flat, gazing at it from every angle. He remembered now; a case from a little over three years ago, in which a man had used his keys to defend from a mugger, holding the long, serrated tool between his fingers and stabbing his attacker in the back after he'd managed to shove him to the ground. The impact was so forceful that the zig-zag-shaped wound remained perfectly preserved between the vertebrae of his spine – just like with Tucker – and the mugger had died long before he could lose enough blood to do so otherwise.

Ianto smiled, despite the murderous circumstances, and he couldn't bring himself to feel guilty. It all slotted together beautifully, and best of all, it proved Jack Harkness wrong. Ianto had more than enough faith in his own abilities as a DI to extract the truth from Eugene Jones but first, he needed to find him... and by returning to the Hub and using the base's technology to do so, Ianto could kill two birds with one stone and use the opportunity to inform Jack of how wrong he was.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Notes**: Happy Sunday, kids! It seems you all forgave me for missing a week - bless you - and curiosity continues to pique. This bodes well for me. Have some more.

Special thanks to all readers, reviewers, messagers, and **riftintime**.

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><p>"Eugene Jones" Toshiko confirmed, typing the name lightning-quick into her computer.<p>

"That's what Sherman said" Ianto replied, resting his elbows on the edge of her desk. He watched as the machine in front of them buffered and whirred, wondering what exactly had been done to it to update it way beyond what 1973 technology could offer.

"Not a very common surname, at least" Toshiko murmured conversationally, and Ianto had to admire her subtle use of sarcasm before the grainy image of a fresh-faced young man with sandy hair filled the screen.

"Only one of them in South Wales" she continued, voice tinged with surprise as she brought up his personal information with one click of the mouse. "Criminal record completely clean, twenty-two years old, lives with his mum, broke his leg in an ice skating incident when he was thirteen..."

Ianto winced, seeing Toshiko do the same simultaneously from the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help but smile at the woman. He rather liked her. Toshiko turned her head and peered at him over her glasses.

"You really think this boy killed Tucker?" she asked quietly, not mocking or judging, but simply enquiring.

"I think it's possible" Ianto replied. He thought back to his childhood, of the rugby matches he would attend with his father, and his mouth began moving before he could stop it. "This is how it starts, you know. It escalates. I went to my first Cardiff versus Swansea when I was eight... fifteen years from now..." Ianto paused to huff out a humourless laugh, before continuing; "incidents like this one were still pretty isolated in rugby, and the fans of opposing teams used to walk to the matches side-by-side. But then sports-related disasters become more and more regular, more accepted as an inevitability, and it bleeds from something mainstream like premiership football into everything else, until eventually it's a shameful thing to be a fan."

Ianto stopped for breath and rubbed at his temples, keeping his mouth firmly closed to avoid losing the tenuous grip on his own sanity. His visions of that time were hazy at best, but it was as if his mind had focussed on one topic and allowed him to vent his tension through it for a few seconds. With all of his remaining mental strength, he reined himself back in and looked at the computer screen to memorise Jones' address, backing away from Toshiko who had, to his eternal gratitude, said nothing about his slip.

"I'm going to talk to Jones" he said, sounding uncomfortable even to himself, and turned to swiftly mount the stairs... telling himself emphatically that he was _not_ running away.

"DI Jones, your hour's up" Jack's voice called from across the Hub, and Ianto froze.

"I haven't finished my investigation, sir" he replied, stating the words without any negative intent in the hope that Jack might give him more time. He watched as Jack sauntered towards him, stopping so close to Ianto that he had to lift his chin all the way to stare up at him from below.

"Did I not say an hour?" Jack asked.

"You did, but I have a new lead. I think I'm close."

Ianto waited as Jack narrowed his eyes and seemed to appraise him, and for the first time, he actually felt as if the Captain held some kind of respect for him. Perhaps this, too, was a test – a challenge – and he was allowing Ianto an opportunity to prove himself. The man had stated that he wanted Ianto on the team for his investigative skills. All at once, a little of Ianto's disdain towards Jack vanished from the ether of his crowded mind, and his shoulders slumped in relief when the man nodded his approval.

"Go" he stated with a wave of his hand and a half-smile. "But if any more corpses turn up in the meantime and we find that the victims have had their bone marrow sucked out, I'm holding you personally responsible. Owen's itching to cut Tucker up, so get your ass in gear, Detective Inspector."

Ianto nodded, and with renewed energy he continued up the stairs at a quicker pace. He was at the top and preparing to press his hand to the hexagon which would let him out again when Jack called his name once more. _Damn it, let me go and catch a murderer_ he thought, before he turned around and stared down at Jack with his eyebrows raised in expectation.

"You might get there quicker with a little help" Jack stated, and threw something which glinted in the low light almost before Ianto could register it. He caught the small bundle of keys awkwardly, and his eyes singled out the one with distinctive black plastic encasing one end. His immediate thought was that Jack had given him the key to the gadget-laden Land Rover, until he saw the word _Ford_ embossed upon it.

"What's this for?" he asked, raising it questioningly.

"You'll see" Jack replied. "It's ready for you round the back of the station. Don't scratch it."

Jack walked away while the rest of the team worked on, indicating that the conversation was over, and so Ianto left, idly rubbing at the key with his thumb.

Minutes later, he found himself unable to keep from smiling as he approached a glossy red Cortina and slid the metal tool into the lock with a satisfying _zip_. If he could offer Jack Harkness one silent compliment, it was that he had style.

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><p>Ianto's surprisingly high spirits thanks to the unexpected treat of the Cortina eventually morphed into something more sombre as he approached Eugene Jones' house. Coarse gravel crunched beneath the pressure of his feet as he approached the door, reasonably certain that behind it, he would find a probably frightened young man. A young man who had made a fatal mistake fuelled by beer and anger, and was petrified of the consequences. Ianto offered a silent thank-you to the mainstream coppers for thinking this a Torchwood issue and handing it over. It felt so good to <em>police<em> again.

What he found, however, was a frightened middle-aged woman – Eugene's mother, Ianto assumed – who stared up at him with alarmingly wide eyes. _Perhaps he's come clean to her_, Ianto thought.

"Mrs. Jones?" he ventured a guess, and the woman shakily nodded. "I'm DI Ianto Jones. I'd like to speak to your son, if I may."

Ianto watched as the lower lip of the woman before him trembled violently, and she sucked in a deep, noisy breath through her nose in an obvious effort to control her emotions.

"He's not here" she whispered in a Southern English accent, slightly incongruous with her location and surname, "I wish I knew where he was."

Ianto hesitated for only a brief moment before asking, "may I come in?"

"He called the house gone one o'clock, last night. All he said was 'I was right, mum; I was right'... and he was crying... my Eugene hasn't cried in front of me since he broke his leg ice skating. He hung up before I could ask him what was happening, and he hasn't come home. He _always_ comes home. Then there's the business with that lad who was stabbed on West Bute Street, right close to where Eugene was drinking, and... and... anything could have happened to my boy!"

Mrs. Jones broke down for the third time during the stuttered explanation of what little she knew about her son's whereabouts, while Ianto scribbled down everything she had said. It sounded as if Eugene was now on the run, fleeing the scene as soon as possible without even returning home for any of his possessions.

"Do you have any idea what he could have been referring to when he said 'I was right'?" Ianto asked in his gentlest I-understand-and-I'm-here-to-help voice, even as he shuffled closer to the edge of the overstuffed armchair he was perched on, prepared to leave and track the young man down as soon as possible. To his disappointment, Mrs. Jones shook her head.

"Not a clue" she said, sniffling into a fresh tissue. "I told all this to the police over the phone this morning, and they said it was being dealt with..."

"Yes, my division has taken over the case" Ianto replied, truthfully. "I'm afraid Eugene's disappearance could very well be linked to the murder of John Tucker, so we do need to question him as soon as he can be recovered."

He watched as Mrs. Jones worked silently through the fully expected range of emotions – surprise, anger, acceptance, and dejection – before she stood up, prompting Ianto to do the same. Ianto was thankful that she was clear-headed enough even in the face of turmoil not to try to question Eugene's obvious link to Tucker's death, and he took one of her hands in a comforting gesture.

"Thank you for your help, Mrs. Jones" he said, offering her a small smile.

"Just find him" she replied, not looking him in the eye as she guided him to the door. Ianto had no time to say goodbye as the woman shut it behind him, so he took his cue and hurried back to the Cortina. That familiar buzz of _policing_ intensified as he worked his way back towards the station, determined to use any resources possible to track down Eugene Jones and extract the truth from him.

Ianto's mind shifted momentarily elsewhere as he found himself actually enjoying the drive and the handle of (what was to him) a classic car. Seamlessly he wound through the city, enjoying the much lighter flow of traffic than he was used to in 2011, and smiled to himself when pedestrians blatantly admired his vehicle. His distraction was such that when the hand-held police radio – something he had vaguely assumed was non-functioning, forgetting that it was new and not a relic – crackled to life and Jack's disembodied voice filled the car, he very nearly stalled in surprise.

"Jones, pick up, now" Jack ordered, and Ianto grabbed at the cream-coloured plastic mouth piece, one-handedly grappling with the spiral cord before thumbing at the large button on the side.

"Sir?" he tried, tapping the microphone a couple of times for good measure.

"Ahh, at last" Jack replied, sounding irritated. "Wherever you're going, I need you to turn around and head for St. Marys Well Bay. We've got a big ol' swell of stationary alien energy down near the rocks, probably hiding in the caves. Meet me down there."

"Captain, I'd like to return to the Hub in order to track down who I think may have killed Tucker, or at least know something about the murder" Ianto explained, though he somehow knew the request was fruitless.

"Sorry Detective Inspector, but this is Torchwood business, and Torchwood comes first" Jack replied in a matter-of-fact tone, making Ianto grit his teeth. "I want you down there in ten."

A loud _click_ indicated that Jack had closed the line, and Ianto shoved the radio back into its cradle, flicking his eyes to the surrounding road signs and squeezing the accelerator as he made his way towards his commanded destination.

* * *

><p>"God, it's even more grim than I remember" Ianto mumbled to himself as he stepped out of the Cortina and onto the greyish pebble beach, the sky above him a tumultuous off-white that threatened to split the clouds at any moment. It had been a place to come for day trips when he was a child, with the promise of chips and crabbing in rock pools. The reality was always a grave disappointment, and this time was no exception. He was just reminding himself that this was years <em>before<em> his own childhood trips when the crunch of an unnecessarily large vehicle behind him signalled the arrival of Captain Jack, and Ianto turned to greet him as he stepped from the Land Rover, his coat whipping around his legs with the brisk sea wind.

"Here" Jack said in lieu of his usual jovial smarm, pressing what Ianto recognised as a Browning Hi-Power military pistol into his hand, "you'll be needing this."

Ianto was sensible enough not to respond with "why?", and instead tucked the weapon into his waistband as he followed Jack towards the ragged, unstable cliff face a few hundred feet from where they had parked. The cliff was nothing more than a grassy piece of land which jutted over the beach and was cut short in a sheer drop, but Ianto was willing to bet that despite the relative shortness of the cliff, enough people had toppled over it and onto the unforgiving stones below for it to warrant a safety barrier. There certainly wasn't one when he used to visit in the eighties and early nineties, but perhaps there was in 2011. He'd have to check, when he got home. Perhaps a camping trip with Lisa was in order. _Lisa_...

"It's definitely in the body of the cliff" Jack stated loudly over the increasingly high-pitched howl of the wind. Ianto was shaken from his thoughts as, for the first time, he looked at the device in Jack's hand which appeared to be some kind of rudimentary GPS system. It looked more like a game of Pong crossed with the submarine sonar in every war film he'd ever seen, but it was clear what it was. And they were heading straight for the ominously glowing dot.

It took some time to find an opening between the rocks large enough for each of them to squeeze through, but once inside, the interior of the cliff was cavernous and slick with organic slime, making Ianto's hands slide unpleasantly against the wall as he blindly searched for a stable place to stand. He winced at the sudden and harsh presence of light as Jack extracted a powerful torch from the inside of his coat, flashing it across the surrounding area. The wind outside seemed to dull from a howl into a moan, like a long and unstoppable murmur of acute pain, and Ianto's heartbeat thumped in his ears with the immense discomfort of the entire situation. He hated that he had no idea what to expect.

He felt Jack's steadying hand on his left shoulder-blade, and tried to resist the little nudge forward that the Captain gave him.

"Come on" Jack murmured, forcing Ianto to walk ahead of him. Ianto finally moved, treading carefully as Jack illuminated his path from behind. They walked almost in tandem, Jack's coat brushing against Ianto's legs every so often, until they reached the far side of the cavern and were faced with a short but ragged drop that would take them even deeper beneath the ground. The two men looked at each other for a long moment before Jack shrugged, and offered Ianto a hand. Ianto had no choice but to take it, gingerly lowering himself with Jack's support into an even darker and far more claustrophobic off-shoot of the cave.

"Woah – steady" Jack hissed when Ianto's right foot slipped, causing him to grasp more tightly at Jack's hand and almost drag him down with him, but by then there could only be one conclusion to the imbalance. Ianto's stomach lurched with fear as he wrenched his fingers from Jack's grip and stumbled forwards, falling not onto the ground but against something solid, yet yielding. It was cold, and wet, and smelt rank in a nauseatingly familiar way which Ianto's mind frantically tried to deny as he pulled back from it as quickly and as carefully as he could.

He turned to Jack, who was still crouched on the edge of the short drop and grappling for the torch to aim the light towards whatever Ianto had fallen against. A rush of bile bombarded Ianto's throat and he frantically pressed his palm against his mouth in an effort to stop it exploding from him, as he came face-to-face with the gore-slicked, hanging corpse of what was undeniably once Eugene Jones.

"Eugene?" Ianto heard Jack say with incredulity, and he turned back towards him, his head thick and heavy with shock as if he was listening to him from under water.

"You _know_ him?" he asked, voice weak and hoarse as he continued to fight against the urge to vomit, knowing his clothes, hands, and parts of his face were smeared with congealed blood.

Jack had no time to respond, as a loud rhythm of clicks echoed throughout the cavern, causing Jack to rise from his knees and spin towards the sound.

"Aha!" he shouted, and Ianto watched as Jack abandoned him, dashing off in an unseen direction. Ianto was spurred into action, skidding his way awkwardly across the few wet feet to the rough ledge he'd struggled down minutes before, placing both hands upon it in an attempt to drag himself back up. He was stopped only by the nightmarish vision of the drawing Jack had shown him in three-dimensional form – the _Sajuiin_ – stalking closer and closer to the captain, who was goading it with his body language. The thing was smaller than Ianto had imagined – if he had bothered to imagine it before dismissing it as ridiculous – rising perhaps five feet off the ground and glistening with magnificent bluish-black body armour that the 50-year-old sketch hadn't managed to capture. It moved almost like a giant spider with only six legs, each perfectly attuned to the others, every step deliberate, graceful, and surprisingly non-aggressive. Once Ianto moved through sheer astonishment to wonder, he had to admit that the creature was extremely beautiful.

But when Jack raised his own army-issue Webley with his right hand, Ianto's desperate shout of "WAIT!" was drowned out by a single deafening shot aimed directly at the now-cowering creature.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Notes:** Evening, all! Another chapter for you all. I've used up my buffer again, as life has been crazy busy what with work and my birthday earlier in the week, but I will fight to get ahead of myself again.

Big thanks to everybody who read and reviewed chapter fifteen, and to **riftintime_,_**who reins me in when I need it.

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>

Ianto didn't trust himself to say a thing during the clean-up. Jack's first words had been "wow... those creatures must have extremely high blood pressure" as he brushed flecks of organic armour from his lapel, and Ianto had simply stared open-mouthed at him until he was told to get Eugene Jones' body down from the wall. Ianto tried not to breathe in as he did so, encircling the corpse's waist with his arms and jerking it upwards several times until it came loose from the jutting piece of rock that held it there. As Eugene's entire weight came down on him, Ianto slipped for a second time and dropped the body, almost breaking his own silence when it hit the ground with a wet thud.

"We'll have to come back for what's left of the Sajuiin" Jack stated from the gap in the wall where he had previously crouched, tucking only the jagged tip of one of the alien's pincers into his pocket. "Owen won't be happy that it's not more intact."

Ianto ground his teeth more tightly together, not looking at Jack as he once again got a grip of Eugene's body and hauled it up, nostrils flaring of their own volition as the raw stench of bloodied flesh assaulted his senses. He cradled the young man as best he could, scowling when Jack reached down to help carry the body over the ledge and into the main cavern.

"Move" Ianto said, his voice low but firm, and Jack appeared to hesitate before stepping out of the way, continuing to watch. Ianto gently slid Eugene onto the ledge and after two failed attempts, pulled himself up. He shrugged off his jacket and used the clean lining to blindly rub the blood from his own face and hands, and then laid it over Eugene before hefting him up once more.

It took a long time, carrying the young man back across the cavern without falling, but Ianto managed despite his own aching muscles and the shock still reverberating around his skull. Jack didn't offer to help a second time, instead following Ianto and illuminating his path again. He did step in to grab Eugene's feet as Ianto attempted to drag him through the cave's opening, but he remained silent, and when Ianto dared to look at Jack's face, the expression there was infuriatingly blank.

Once they had fought once more through the miserable rain, Eugene was placed in the back of the Land Rover and the two men wrapped him in a tarpaulin from one of the many boxes of emergency kit.

"Back to base. Follow in the Cortina" Jack said, not meeting Ianto's eyes as he climbed into his oversized vehicle and immediately started the engine. Ianto obeyed on autopilot, avoiding looking at his blood-stained hands on the wheel or his blood-shot eyes in the rear-view mirror. He allowed Jack to carry Eugene down into the Hub on arrival, watching as their colleagues paused all conversation, four pairs of wide eyes flicking from Eugene's corpse to Ianto's pale, soaked, and bloodied appearance. Eugene was placed onto the metal table in the medical area, and Ianto saw Jack give merely a nod to Owen, who immediately went to snap on a pair of rubber gloves and get to work. The disembodied pincer was then handed to Toshiko, before Jack began to stride towards his office.

"DI Jones, with me. Debriefing."

Ianto followed Jack with his fists clenched tightly beside him, sensing Toshiko and Gwen attempting to make eye contact with him, which he ignored, focussing instead on the boiling rage that had taken hold now that the numbness of shock had lost its edge. He was right back to having more questions than he knew what to do with, and he _hated_ that Jack had once again stolen self-control from him.

Still, once he was stiffly seated opposite Jack and saved from trying to assault him by the separation of a desk, he relied on his own sense of logic to single out the most important query:

"How did you know Eugene Jones?"

Jack sighed heavily, as if he'd been holding his breath in expectation that Ianto would ask that very question, and linked his fingers over his own stomach. Ianto wanted to sneer at his ability to appear so casual under the circumstances.

"Eugene Jones knew about Torchwood" he began, and Ianto couldn't stop his eyebrows from arching upwards. "He was an alien enthusiast. He used to follow me, but _only_ me. If I was with any other team member, I never saw him, but on my own, he had this uncanny ability to stumble across me in the city and try to ask me questions. The stupid kid once stood in front of the car in the pouring rain, daring me to run him over and trying to tempt me with alien eyes and coins he reckoned he had."

Ianto thought about finding his file earlier in the day, and Toshiko's lack of reaction.

"The rest of the team didn't know" he stated, and Jack shook his head.

"As I said, he always honed in on me. I didn't want the rest of the team involved."

"Don't you trust them to keep your little secret?" Ianto replied, nails biting into his palms until his hands began to shake.

Jack's expression remained impassive and he said nothing. Ianto was suddenly flooded with despair as he thought of Eugene's mother, still waiting for word about her son. He supposed he'd have to break the news to her, assuming Torchwood actually bothered with silly little things like informing next-of-kin.

Then Ianto thought of that telephone call - "_I was right, mum_" - and finally, it made sense.

"That's what he meant when he called his mother to tell her he was right... he'd seen the Sajuiin" he breathed aloud. Fuelled by a rush of puzzle pieces slotting into place, Ianto bolted from the office, heading towards the medical bay. Jack had laid Eugene on the single table; so where was Tucker?

"Sorry mate, but I started slicing as soon as you and Jack buggered off to chase the alien" Owen explained when Ianto asked, leaning over the railing as the doctor swabbed blood from Eugene's naked body.

"And?" Ianto prompted impatiently.

"And Jack was right. Bone marrow non-existent, brain dry, completely drained of spinal fluids."

"What about Jones?"

"Well, I haven't started cutting him up yet, but by the weight of the body and particularly the head, I'd say the Sajuiin didn't suck him dry."

"Does he have that zig-zag wound anywhere, Owen?" Ianto heard Toshiko ask from behind him, though he kept his own eyes on the corpse below.

"Not that I've found, no. Certainly not on the back of the neck. Why, was it definitely the Sajuiin that made the mark?"

"Yep. The serrated edges at the tip match perfectly."

Ianto turned his head, peering at the razor-tipped claw in Toshiko's gloved hand. It was shaped remarkably like the Yale key, but it was undeniably the culprit. Ianto had clutched at straws, and he had failed, blinkered by his own disbelief. But the Sajuiin's actions still made no sense, and he concentrated on bending his mind around the issue at hand.

"Why didn't it feed on Jones?" he asked aloud. "What was the cause of death?"

"Severe contusions to the chest and head" Owen replied, pointing to various messy, careless wounds, and a mass of mottled bruises.

"Tucker was killed with one stab to the back of the neck and fed on. The murder was _elegant_, you said. Jones looks like he was attacked with a blunt pickaxe."

"Maybe it didn't kill him" Owen suggested.

"He was in the cave, alone, with just the Sajuiin for company. There was no conspicuous trace of blood on the beach that I saw, no cars or people around, and he made a phone call at around one AM, so he wasn't killed anywhere near Tucker" Ianto explained, shaking his head. He started when an elbow touched his – he hadn't heard Jack approach – and shifted himself a little away from the man he wasn't keen on even looking at right now, let alone touching. He heard Jack take a breath to speak.

"Tucker and Jones go outside for a fight, yeah? Perhaps Tucker gets in a couple of shoves, a punch or two, but Jones doesn't want to be involved – he's a sweet kid, he doesn't fight – so he walks away. Maybe a few moments later he hears a noise, and he catches the Sajuiin suckin' on Tucker's juices. The Sajuiin clocks him, chases him, Jones shakes him off for long enough to make a call but it finds him again, follows him all the way to the cave, and kills him. Simple."

Silence filled the medical bay even as Gwen and Suzie also gathered around the corpse on the table, all eyes either watching Owen continue to clean the still-seeping wounds, or fixed on the electrical space between Jack and Ianto.

"No" Ianto replied, suddenly able to see the scene in his mind as clearly as if it were a film. He felt his eyes' focus blur as he replayed the creature's reaction to Jack's gun. "It was the other way around. Jones followed the Sajuiin... he caught it feeding on Tucker, yes, and chased it, losing it for a minute while he made the call, before going after it again and cornering it in the cave. Why else would his death have been so clumsy? It didn't want to kill, because it wasn't hungry. It fought in self-defence, and even hid the body afterwards. It _cowered_ when you pulled your gun out, Captain! Didn't you notice?"

Ianto rounded on Jack, fury returning in a frantic rush.

"It _cringed_ from you, and you blew it to pieces! You didn't even _think_ about that creature's motives!"

"It was a threat to humanity" Jack replied, looking unmoved but raising his hands in defence. "Our job is to eliminate those threats."

"So you'd have done the same to a human, hmm? Or even an alien which could verbally defend itself? It was a _living creature_, Harkness, and entitled to a fair trial just like anybody else!"

Ianto could hear the pitch and volume of his voice rising, but he couldn't stop. There was a tickling awareness at the edge of his mind, an irritating voice which pointed out that a large portion of his anger was at himself; even when presented with solid evidence, he'd blindly refused to accept the truth, and what, he had to wonder, did that say about him as a police officer? Yet, his mind continued to make excuses for him as the self-righteous words which he would later regret freely flowed.

"Why is it that you have all these procedures for humans coming through the Rift, but not aliens? Don't they deserve the same right?"

"The Sajuiin _killed_ two people" Jack countered, and Ianto's ire overflowed. He grasped the front of Jack's sky-blue shirt in his hands and shoved his back against the railing, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when Jack's balance wavered. He was vaguely aware of a chorus of voices trying to placate him, but they fell on deaf ears, as hysteria welled up within him and pushed him to breaking point. _It would be deserved_, a vicious part of Ianto's mind whispered, _you're lost and on edge and even if you beat the shit out of Jack Harkness right now, it'd be justified. _

"You think you're some kind of hero, don't you, Jack?" he hissed, meeting the other man's steely gaze; "but you're the monster here, not the creatures you murder."

"That's enough!" he heard Gwen snap, before forcing her way between them with one hand on each man's chest.

"Yes, it is" Ianto replied quietly, flashing one more dark look Jack's way before turning on his heel and leaving the Hub. Nobody followed him.

* * *

><p>It was late in the evening by the time Ianto heard Jack let himself into his flat. He'd assumed it would happen; it was simply a little later than expected. He'd long since decided that barricading the door would be pointless, and besides, he was too tired to fight.<p>

The moment he returned to the flat, he'd torn off everything he was wearing and shoved it into a bin liner, tossing the bag into the hallway and running a bath with shaking hands. The water scalded his skin and he sat in it for an hour until goosebumps rose, his body pink from scrubbing and shivering with the cold. He was in his bed when Jack crept in, finding it enormously comfortable all of a sudden when his limbs and head ached so deeply. He couldn't find himself to be embarrassed about his prone position as Jack stared down at him, curled up with his face half buried in the pillow, seeping comfort where he could find it and knowing that sleep would elude him tonight.

Eye contact was maintained for a long moment, before Jack leaned back against the wall and slid down it next to the bed, until they were face-to-face and two feet apart. Jack was wearing an unfamiliar light brown bomber jacket, and Ianto supposed that the wool of his military coat had probably soaked up enough rain, mud, and gore to warrant a thorough scrub at the local launderette.

"Suzie and I went back to the cave earlier" Jack began, apparently captivated by something under his fingernails. "We found a pocket knife where Eugene's body had been, with the Sajuiin's blood on it. It's entirely possible that he tried to wound it in order to capture it. Apparently he didn't take into account the resin-like body armour. So... we think Eugene's death might have been self-defence."

"Do you, now?" Ianto replied, muffled slightly by the pillow, but not enough that his sarcastic tone wasn't uttered loud and clear. "Congratulations on coming to that conclusion."

He saw Jack force a humourless smile.

"It was a test, Ianto. I still want you to come to terms with all of this in your own time, in your own way. It just... keeps backfiring" he admitted.

"I don't want to play your games any more" Ianto stated, sliding both of his arms under the pillow and releasing a breath when his shoulders simultaneously clicked. "I can't work under a man who shoots before asking questions. I won't."

Silence fell, and Ianto closed his eyes, not particularly caring whether Jack left or stayed sitting on the floor looking like a wet weekend in Aberystwyth. The last thing he expected was for Jack to make any sincere admissions.

"I'm sorry."

Ianto opened his eyes, finding Jack looking at him now, his head tilted back against the wall, moonlight striking his cheekbones and the tendons of his throat.

"For what?" Ianto asked, wanting something more specific, not just a token apology. Whether that was a childish desire, he couldn't decide.

"For making your life hell. For playing mind games. For disregarding your DI tactics when that's exactly why I wanted you on the team. And for not giving the Sajuiin a chance. I've... lost my way, lately. I thought maybe the presence of a professional law-enforcer might help, but I didn't even think, I just..."

"Blew it to bits" Ianto finished the trailed-off sentence for him. Jack nodded.

"I need someone to rein me in once in a while, and the others never do. They disagree, and we fight sometimes, but at the end of the day, they won't question my authority. You do. You've been here a little over a week and you've already taken me down at least one peg."

Jack's smile returned, warm this time, and surprisingly open.

"It's not often I ask for help."

"I'm honoured" Ianto replied, rolling his eyes, and Jack laughed. Ianto was almost tempted to join him. "Look, Captain, babysitting you was never part of the job description. I only joined your team because I have nowhere else to go."

"Welcome to the club" Jack replied, and carried on before Ianto could ask what that meant. "I've always thought you look like a man who enjoys a challenge, Ianto Jones."

"You're certainly that" Ianto replied, unable to stop his mouth from curving upwards at the edges.

Another pause, during which Ianto couldn't bring himself to verbally confirm that he'd stay at Torchwood – as if he had any other offers – and so left Jack to assume.

"So... you believe in aliens now?"

Ianto huffed an indignant sound into the pillow, following it with a long sigh.

"I got my proof" he replied.

"So where's my apology?"

Ianto opened his eyes again and raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"Was this or was this not about rugby?"

"It... involved rugby, in that the two victims were drinking in the same pub and became embroiled in an argument about rugby, and if they hadn't gone outside-"

"Was this or was this not about rugby?"

"It wasn't."

"So I was right" Jack grinned, looking sickeningly pleased with himself.

"Yes" Ianto admitted, swallowing a troublesome lump of pride which had been lodged forcibly into his throat. Exhaustion had removed all possibility of maintaining his anger, and with it came a dull, lingering sense of guilt over how he had lashed out. His recent lack of control over his own emotions was concerning to say the least. "I saw what I wanted this case to be, and I fixated on it. Which is, frankly, bad form in my profession. So... some of the fault rests on me."

Jack waved a dismissive hand, and Ianto knew his behaviour well enough to understand that it was water under the bridge.

"I'll see you in the morning, Captain" he said after a long pause, which, as he'd hoped, prompted Jack to awkwardly haul himself from the floor.

"Good" the other man replied, nodding down at Ianto. "Good. Sweet dreams, DI Jones."

Ianto waited for the door to snap closed before he rolled over and murmured "if only".


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Morning, all (depending on where you reside)! Huge thanks, as always, to everybody who read and reviewed the last chapter, and in particular to **riftintime** for feedback and support. It's time for the next adventure...

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><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>

Despite assumptions to the contrary, Ianto did dream that night. He dreamt of something which had barely crossed his mind since his materialisation in 1973; something which was dear to his heart – and body – but had not been a priority to him since before Rupesh's fateful telephone call the night he was stolen by the rift.

He dreamt about sex.

Rather than the standard fantasies of the beautiful and famous who Ianto had harmlessly lusted over through the years, the dream was an orgy of memories which stretched throughout Ianto's entire love life. It was a graphic reminder of how he had felt during the most enjoyable interludes. Faces and skin tones filled his mind; some smooth, others stubbled, all of them warm and welcoming to the touch. Their scents returned to him, tastes, the eagerness to please during the first flush of infatuation that remained in memory and now caused his sleeping mind to burn with desire.

His subconscious lingered specifically on the years of intimacy with Lisa – the woman with whom he expected to spend his entire life – her desires, her shyly-broached kinks, her sounds of bliss, the stunning contrast between their skin tones, and the sensation of her contracting and pulsing around him during orgasm...

Ianto jolted into wakefulness with a desperate gasp, arousal morphing swiftly into something hollow and lined with heartache, and he brought both hands to his face to scrub at it in an attempt to drag himself into full consciousness. Blinking in the dark, Ianto squirmed at the borderline painful feeling of the hard and heavy cock twitching against his belly, not particularly wanting to indulge in an undoubtedly unfulfilling masturbation session over lovers who had technically not yet been born. He silently cursed the dream for bringing into sharp focus that which he no longer had – what he may not have for god only knew how long – and for highlighting the increasing sense of grief that he felt in being separated from Lisa, with no way of communicating with her. The sense of loss was so acute that his erection began to subside almost immediately, aided in its deflation by the uncomfortable texture and heat of the blanket atop him.

"You are settling in well, I see."

Jerking with shock into a sitting position, Ianto backed himself against the headboard, flooded with deja vu as he came face-to-face once more with The Tarot Girl he met during his second night in 1973. She wore the same clothing that she did when last he dreamed of her, plus a wry, knowing expression which she was far too young to possess. _What kind of screwed-up mind invents an imaginary little girl who blatantly understands why a grown man would be trying to adjust the blankets around his groin?_

"I wouldn't go that far" Ianto replied in a voice roughened by sleep, cutting his losses and drawing his knees up to his chest, aching muscles protesting the awkward position.

"But you are" the girl argued, extracting a familiar pack of oversized cards from her cloak. "I told you that peace would be made with the Knight of Wands, and you are well on your way."

She held out a card to him, and Ianto tentatively took it, realising now that it was made not out of cardboard or paper, but some sort of thin shell or bone that was cold to the touch. He squinted at the image of the knight before a flaming backdrop, the same as she had shown him before – only now, he could make out the details of the figure's face, and he laughed in disbelief.

"Jack Harkness?" he exclaimed. Nobody outside of 1950's Hollywood had a face like his. God, and wouldn't he love that? The knight in shining armour. Ianto wondered what part of his clearly warped mind had cooked _that_ one up.

"_Captain_" the girl replied in an amused tone, but Ianto barely heard her, recalling precisely what she had said to him in that first dream:

".._.he believes in his decisions with a deep conviction, but they are not always as wise as he hopes."_

Ianto couldn't remember the rest off the top of his head, but he had to admire the truth of that statement considering the previous day's débâcle. _How could this being from my subconscious have predicted that, though?_

"All that you know now, and still you doubt my existence?"

Ianto's eyes flicked from the card in his hands to the girl's face, one of her brows arched delicately over a dark, sunken eye. He remained silent, unsettled that she had seemingly read his mind, and not wanting to consider the possibility that The Tarot Girl was an actual creature who stalked him to tell his fortune in the middle of the night. He watched as the girl seemed to accept his reluctance to suspend disbelief any further than he already had.

"You need time" she stated, plucking the card from Ianto's hand and tucking it back where it belonged. "And you shall have it."

Ianto felt his heart sink, weighted by his own despair.

"I'm not going home any time soon, then" he stated in a flat tone, head heavy.

"I cannot say" the girl replied, her tone laced with a surprising amount of empathy. "You are not a fixed point."

With enormous effort, Ianto raised his head and peered through the darkness at her.

"What does that mean?" he asked, so utterly sick of tricks and lies and riddles. If _just one thing_ could make sense...

"It means that the cards can only ever tell part of your future, before several possible paths make themselves known, and you will have to choose. Most people have one single path, pre-determined. Your very existence is a quirk of fate. I know of only two others like you."

Ianto opened his mouth with a question on his lips before an intense wave of drowsiness melted his muscles and forced his eyes closed. The sudden loss of physical control forced his body to slide sideways and sink back onto the thin mattress below. Ianto's mind became a vacuum of peace, and in his semi-conscious delirium, he thought he heard The Tarot Girl murmur that she would visit again soon. It remained unspoken that he had no choice in the matter.

* * *

><p>The unusually bright spring sun which warmed Ianto's skin through his sombre suit the following morning did little to chase away his sense of disorientation. His attention was caught by the previous night's images; he remembered that during his dream about The Tarot Girl, it had felt intensely real and he'd wondered whether she was imaginary at all. Now, after falling asleep once more, it seemed in hindsight blurred around the edges and distant. He had again written down every detail that he could recall, adding that while the preceding erotic dream had been a frantic jumble of sensual puzzle pieces which boiled his helpless brain with mindless bliss, the vision of the little girl was as lucid as it had been during her last visit. He had felt the same full-body shock on seeing her, the same confusion at her baffling words, with the addition of an aching reminder that he may not have the chance to return to 2011 for some time. Was the girl merely voicing his own anxieties? His future had always seemed certain, until a little over a week ago, and Ianto could probably trace everything The Tarot Girl had said to him back to some psychological discord within his own head. Besides, it was entirely plausible that he was losing his marbles.<p>

Ianto squinted up at the sun with a grimace of farewell as he stepped from the gleaming outdoors and into the darkness of the station, focussing on getting down to the Hub and losing himself in whatever nonsense Team Torchwood was chasing this time. With any luck, it would be suitably distracting.

* * *

><p>"A human blowfish?"<p>

Ianto narrowed his eyes at Jack, unsure that he'd heard correctly.

"Yep! Well, kind of. _Homoformatus piscis_, Torchwood used to call them. More like a humanoid land-fish" the Captain replied, arms folded across his chest.

"With a penchant for hideous suits" Owen added.

"And cocaine" Toshiko piped up, nodding at her computer screen.

"Right" Ianto replied, blinking hard to illustrate his bemusement. "And it's in the cells?"

"Oh, we had quite the night without you" Jack said light-heartedly, spinning on his heel to retrieve a file from Suzie, before handing it to Ianto. He flicked it open, leaning back against Gwen's desk, and found the organic blueprints of what was undeniably a six foot fish-man. Running his eyes over the image, Ianto flicked to the following page which was filled by a lengthy list of misdemeanours, ranging from the petty to the fatal.

"That's an ongoing list of unsolved crimes characteristic with their race, and this one blowfish in particular. He's been a pain in my ass for longer than I care to remember."

"Are any of them actually _proven_?" Ianto enquired, raising his eyes from the file and frowning at Jack.

"Not technically, no, but this guy's a pathological liar and sneaky as hell to boot. Now that I've finally caught him, I'm not letting him go until I have answers. Even if I have to use the mind probe."

"I hope that's not what it sounds like" Ianto murmured, turning his attention back to the x-ray of the blowfish and feeling his eyes widen at the Class A drug reading which would have killed any human.

"It's exactly what it sounds like" he heard Gwen reply. "Remember what happened last time we used it?"

"That was a miscalculation" Jack replied, his tone defensive.

"What _did_ happen?" Ianto felt compelled to ask, his gaze flicking between Jack and Gwen.

"Well... imagine what happened to the Sajuiin when I shot it, but about ten times messier."

Jack had the sheepish look of a child caught pulling the legs off spiders, and Ianto simply rolled his eyes in reply, unable to find the energy to admonish his careless attitude.

"You can't just keep him in the cells without charge" he eventually stated, closing the file. "And you're absolutely not using any alien torture devices on him."

"So what do you suggest, Detective Inspector?" Jack asked in a mildly mocking tone, one corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Ianto straightened himself to full height, flicking both edges of his jacket aside to rest his hands on his hips.

"We do this properly. We question him, we ascertain his guilt or lack thereof, and we act according to the laws of the United Kingdom. There's no reason why he should be treated any differently to a human suspect."

Jack seemed to consider the concept before he met Ianto's eyes once more, and unfolded his arms to hold them open in acquiescence.

"The floor is yours, DI Jones" he stated, cocking his head to the side and flashing that irritatingly flawless grin. "We'll do this by the book. I just hope you're right."


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Notes**_: _Evening, all! Another chapter for you. Once again I haven't replied to all of last week's reviews, I definitely owe a certain other person reviews on their own story, and I'm way behind on getting new chapters ready, but life is HECTIC and I'm trying my best. Maybe if this chapter's good enough, you'll all forgive me, yeah? Yeah.

Special thanks to all readers, reviewers, and **riftintime.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>

_Well, Jack certainly wasn't exaggerating_, Ianto thought as he warily approached the newly-inhabited cell; _that is definitely a humanoid land-fish._

Not only was it a humanoid land-fish, but it was a fish in a purple suit and orange tie, hands (assuming fish-men actually had hands) stuffed in its pockets, and a mocking grin on its face. Webbed spines curved around its cheekbones and flared as Ianto and Jack approached, the crest on its head also rising. Its skin was red and sticky-looking, and by the time Ianto reached the bars of the cell, his stomach was protesting the scent of gone-off sushi.

"I heard you like to have an audience for your executions, Harkness" the blowfish hissed maliciously, his eyes firmly fixed on the Captain. Ianto's eyebrows raised of their own accord, but not because of the message. He wasn't expecting the creature to be quite so... well-spoken.

"Oh George, you have no idea how tempted I am, but that's not why we're here" he heard Jack reply, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Ianto.

"George?" Ianto repeated, a breath of a laugh escaping his lips.

"He won't tell us his real name, and 'Bob' never felt right" Jack explained. Ianto brought his curled fist up to his mouth to mask his smirk and smother any further sounds of mirth, watching as George lost his own smile and glared at the pair of them.

"This is Detective Inspector Ianto Jones. He's a twenty-first century police officer and he'll be interrogating you" Jack explained, and Ianto had to marvel over how _ordinary_ he made that sentence sound. George's tiny dark eyes flicked towards him and he stepped forward, closer to the bars, Ianto fighting the urge to back away as he remembered how the Weevil's claw-tipped hands had reached for him.

"He looks more like an undertaker" George stated. "Undertaker and executioner... what a team."

"Is that what you want us to be?" Jack asked in a deceptively light-hearted tone. The man wrapped a hand slowly around one of the cell bars, and Ianto was surprised when George backed away, lifting his chin as the crest on his head lowered. The blowfish was afraid of Jack.

"Now here's what's going to happen – I'm going to let you out, and we're going to the interrogation room where DI Jones will question you as he sees fit. And I'll be sitting in, so bear in mind that I _will_ rip your heart out through your gills if you so much as think about laying one slimy finger on my newest team-member."

Ianto realised in that moment how difficult Jack was finding it to allow Ianto his way and not simply kill the creature he had already labelled guilty. Even if the other man's attitude _was_ wrong to begin with, Ianto was grateful. He was also oddly touched by the death threat, realising that Jack did feel a form of responsibility towards him, if nothing else.

The blowfish gave a terse nod of understanding, and Jack pulled out a jingling ring of keys from his pocket to crack open the rusted lock. The door swung open with a low yawn, and Jack motioned for George to step out of the cell.

"Keep in front" the man ordered, nodding at Ianto to follow. Ianto couldn't help but notice that Jack kept one hand close to his holster at all times as they guided the blowfish up the stairs and into the main Hub. He scanned the room and was amused to see the rest of the team not even bothering to look up as an extremely garish alien strolled past them. Gwen caught his eye as she tapped away at her computer, flashing him a toothy smile and miming 'good luck'. Ianto smiled back, appreciative of the support.

The room Jack guided them to was one Ianto had yet to see, and like the cells, it was one level below the main working area. All it contained was a single steel table and two plastic chairs. The chairs were bright orange, completely incongruous to the cold grey tone of the rest of the interrogation room. The air was thick with damp and the scent of mould, and Jack gave George a somewhat unnecessary shove with his elbow as they reached the table.

"Sit" he ordered, and the blowfish did. Ianto looked to the Captain, who nodded his permission, and walked slowly backwards with his arms crossed until he reached the far wall, looking for all the world like a bodyguard. Ianto chose not to lessen the effect of his glower by rolling his eyes, instead taking his time in extracting his notepad from his pocket and placing it on the table before he sat down.

As soon as he was seated at the same level as the prisoner, fish-man or not, all his years of criminal psychology returned to him in a relief-fuelled flood and he was DI Jones once more, youngest officer in The Met to have reached his rank thanks entirely to his skill and determination. The police officer within him overwhelmed everything that had severely tested his focus since landing in 1973, and the following hour was spent peppering the blowfish with questions, linking each enquiry to the vast list of crimes Jack seemed assured George was guilty of. Ianto sensed Jack's unwavering presence behind him, standing guard. But no matter how threatening he looked, their prisoner had an explanation for everything, and without any actual evidence, Ianto had no way of disproving his excuses.

"Sorry Jack, but there's simply no proof" Ianto shrugged as he closed the door to the Captain's office behind him. He watched Jack perch himself on the edge of the desk and rub his tightly-closed eyes with his fists, releasing a dramatic sigh. Ianto silently conceded that he felt similarly exasperated.

"All signs point to him" Jack replied with vehemence, pointing out of the covered window in the vague direction of the interrogation room. "There's no way he's not involved."

"He's got an answer for everything" Ianto shrugged, not denying that George's defence was dodgy at best. "You can't just keep him in the cells without charge."

"Ianto, you were phenomenal down there, you really were" Jack stated, and Ianto held himself straighter with the praise; "but with all due respect, we're not the police."

"You wanted me on the team for my policing skills" Ianto pointed out. "You wanted my experience in this area, and you said that we'd work on this case by the book."

Ianto could see deep lines of frustration marring Jack's face, and through his stubborn desire to do this properly, he hit upon a compromise.

"Have you got anything we could track him with?"

The strain in Jack's expression dissolved immediately, replaced by curiosity.

"Yeah, we've got all kinds of tracking systems. What do you have in mind?"

"We have to release him... but if you're as sure of his criminal intent as you seem to be, I don't see why we couldn't keep an eye on his movements. That way, if he's guilty, we'll have the proof to pull him in should it happen again."

Jack's eyes dropped to the floor, his frown thoughtful.

"It's a big risk" he murmured, so quietly that Ianto wondered who exactly he was speaking to.

"We're not going to get anything from him keeping him locked up" Ianto pointed out. Plus, he was not yet over the foul conditions down there. He made a mental note to enquire why exactly the Weevil was locked up and whether they were planning to release that too, though it seemed happier in the caged environment than the blowfish had. It had been sleeping peacefully in the middle of the floor when Jack took Ianto to meet George.

"You're right" Jack eventually said, raising his eyes to Ianto's once more. "Let's keep him on our radar. If nothing else, knowing his whereabouts at all times might lead to further information about his species and others. But I think he should remain ignorant about the tracker."

While Ianto's morals wanted to object, he was sure George wouldn't wear one willingly, or would find a way of removing it.

"We can chip him, like you guys in the twenty-first century do with your dogs" Jack added, with a smirk. Ianto narrowed his eyes at him. It wasn't the first reference Jack had made to his own time – he remembered the mention of Ianto's mobile, specifically using that term. Had Jack been through the rift, too? Something told Ianto it wasn't the time to get into that particular conversation, no matter how much Jack's teasing eyes were baiting him.

"Fine" he replied, letting it go for now. "Will we need to get him into the medical b-"

The discharge of a gun and a chorus of frightened cries from the main Hub stopped him dead, and before he knew what was happening, Jack had shoved past him to almost rip the door from its hinges. Ianto was hot on his heels, and his mouth dropped open at the sight of the blowfish in the middle of the Hub, forearm tightly across Owen's chest while the webbed hand at the end of it splayed over his throat. Owen's mouth had formed a hard line, all colour drained from his face as his eyes bulged with mute fear. George swung a stolen pistol around towards Jack and Ianto, that crest standing at its highest as he bared his teeth.

"I know what Torchwood does to my kind" he hissed, voice hoarse and bitter – the tone of the persecuted. "I know what you do to us, Captain Jack Harkness."

"We're not going to do anything to you" Jack replied, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Ianto watched as the man took a step forward, forcing George to recoil in a gesture which had a clear effect on Owen's air supply as the doctor let out a choked gasp.

"We're releasing you. You don't need to hurt anybody" Ianto added, startled when Jack's hand flew out in front of his face in a halting gesture – an obvious and abrupt warning to keep out of the negotiations.

"The Captain doesn't let anybody leave Torchwood alive – even his team" George replied with a forced laugh. "And you always remember what you killed... don't you, Jack?"

Silence fell, interrupted only by the harsh breaths of the blowfish, before he broke the spell with a command in Owen's ear:

"Show me the exit."

Owen immediately pointed to what Ianto recognised as the short cut in and out that nobody actually used – a rolling cog-shaped door that led into the sewers.

George made a show of applying a little more pressure to Owen's throat before starting to drag him towards it, awkwardly attempting to pull his captive in-step with him. Standing helplessly by, Ianto caught sight of Jack's hand twitching around his holster, and his pulse lurched when George shouted a protest.

"Don't even think about it!"

Stopping in his tracks, George spread his crimson hand wide and Ianto watched with horror as long, spine-like claws emerged from the ends of his fingers. He touched them lightly to Owen's throat for effect, enough to dimple the skin, and Jack immediately lifted his hands away from his belt.

The blowfish's grin was smug and manic, and he continued in his escape route, gun wavering slightly as they reached the target. Without needing to be told, Owen pressed his hand to the hexagon, and with a blare of sirens the cog ground aside and a wave of warm, faeces-scented air rolled into the room. With a final victorious smile directed at Jack, George leapt into the darkness beyond – dragging Owen with him – and the Hub sealed itself once more.

The sudden sound of three panicked voices speaking at once and a flurry of movement almost drove Ianto dizzy after the tense, dangerous tone of a moment previous, and he watched as his colleagues tooled up around him, attempting to reach a decision amongst themselves. Jack was noticeably silent for a moment, until he spun around and stared at Ianto with fire in his eyes.

"The interrogation room door locks itself as soon as it's closed, and anybody opening it from the inside needs a key, or the necessary mainframe code" he stated, his voice a low rumble. Ianto had noticed that they'd required a key to leave the room, but not to enter it. "Which means that the door wasn't closed properly when we left."

Ianto's eyes widened of their own volition, and his mind replayed the memory of them leaving the room to go to Jack's office. Did he... yes, he'd pulled the door all the way closed. Of course he did. He had to have done.

"Did you leave the door open?"

"No" Ianto replied immediately, certain that he'd heard the heavy _click _as the lock slid back into place. But not certain enough to halt the sense of anxiety welling up from his abdomen.

Jack stared at him for a moment longer, his jaw so tightly clenched that when he opened his mouth and repeated his question in a booming shout which rendered the rest of the team speechless, it was all Ianto could do not to put a good ten feet of distance between them.

"_No_" he stated with what he hoped was calm insistence, and just as the Captain looked as if he might pull out his Webley and use him as a close-range target, Gwen forced herself between them, jabbing an elbow into Jack's chest and forcing him back.

"For fuck's sake, you two! Owen's in danger – we need to get the hell out there and find them, NOW!" she said with a hint of a growl, staring intently between the two men as she forcibly slid a full magazine into her pistol.

"Where's your gun?" she asked Ianto, shaking him from the idle thought that she was extremely impressive under stress.

"On my desk" he replied, and before he had time to locate it with his eyes across the Hub, Suzie had thrown it to Gwen, who shoved it into his hand. Gwen looked up at him for a moment, her eyes lacking the sense of accusation which had made the air around Ianto thick and difficult to swallow, before she made a dash for the cog door and slapped the hexagon for entry. Suzie and Toshiko, fully armed, followed her, all three turning to stare expectantly at Jack and Ianto.

"Captain?" Toshiko called, her voice at once impatient and pleading. Jack spared one last lingering glare for Ianto, making his gut squirm uncomfortably with the power of that loathing expression alone, before the man stepped around him and strode to the exit.

"Okay team, once we're down there, I want you to spl-"

"Ianto?" Gwen shouted over him, cutting through the guilt and bewilderment clouding Ianto's mind. "Come on!"

Ianto didn't think, didn't look at Jack – simply followed Gwen's invitation and threw himself into the dark alongside them. If he really had made a stupid enough mistake to get one of his colleagues kidnapped by a six-foot fish, there was no way he wasn't going to do everything possible in helping to find him.

The chill of the underground pipework seeped into Ianto's bones more deeply even than the sense of blame which already lay heavy on his shoulders. However, fuelled by Jack's icy countenance and his own intense concern, Ianto reached into the deepest part of himself for strength before sinking his foot into the stream of sewage that flooded their path.


	19. Chapter 19

**Author's Note**: Evening, all! And a happy Jubilee weekend to my fellow commonwealth brethren. Not that I give a toss about the royal family, but give me an excuse to cover things in bunting and I'll take it.

Special thanks to all who read and reviewed last week. More drama to come? Surely not...

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>

Whatever Jack's original order had been before Gwen interrupted, it appeared to die on his lips the moment all five of them were within the sewer pipe. There was only one discernible direction to travel through, one way of chasing their criminal, and so they marched in silence with torches flashing as they stepped through the stinking water underfoot. In another time, where another mood prevailed, Ianto might have asked why the pipe couldn't be rerouted in order to claim it as a proper main entrance to the Hub – being more secretive and quicker to use – but that time was not now. Not with the fog of guilt clouding his mind, and the tension rolling off his colleagues in waves.

"There's the exit" Suzie murmured, breaking the silence as she honed her torch in on the steps which led to the surface. Out of choice, Ianto was the last to mount them, finding them slick as he climbed with difficulty in his wet leather shoes. A series of shouts from above spurred him on in his journey until he was clambering once more into sunlight, immeasurably relieved to see Owen sprawled on the ground behind the station, surrounded by his team-mates and waving off their concerns.

"I'm alright, seriously" he heard the doctor grumble, watching as he tentatively touched an obvious (if minor) head wound as he rose from the ground, one arm gratefully wrapped around Toshiko's shoulders. "That bloody fish just got in a good whack with the pistol and tried to knock me out, that's all. Thankfully m'skull's made of stronger stuff than that. How did it even get out of the interrogation room?"

Ianto didn't need to look at Jack to sense the force of his anger re-emerging at Owen's query.

"We don't know" the Captain stated, sounding as if he was forcing the words between tightly clenched teeth. Ianto glanced at Owen, heart skittering against his chest as the reality of almost getting a man killed truly hit him. The doctor stared back at him for a moment, then at Jack, before he made a show of shrugging off the entire event.

"Well, I'm not hurt, so it doesn't really matter _how _it happened" he said with one final flick of the eyes towards Ianto, who let out a tiny breath of gratitude.

"We'll see about that if we ever catch him again" Jack replied in a dark tone, and Ianto felt a flash of anger towards him, his words sounding as if he was almost _willing_ George to commit another crime so that the blame could fall squarely on Ianto and Ianto alone.

The squeal of tyres on tarmac caused them all to turn and face the source of the noise, just in time to see the Cortina zooming away from around the corner of the station in a flurry of exhaust fumes, driven by an undeniably fish-like creature.

"Shit!" Suzie exclaimed, "clever bastard must have hot-wired it. What now?"

Ianto watched as Jack slid comfortably into boss mode, his tortured frown replaced by a ruthless glare.

"Toshiko, take Owen back inside. Track the Cortina's registration number and radio me as soon as you've got a trace on it. Owen, you treat whatever wounds you have. No arguments. The rest of you are with me."

Without stopping to gauge the reactions to his orders, Jack strode off towards the front of the building, and Ianto watched in awe as his team scattered like trained fleas. Jack's presence when in Captain Mode was overwhelming, and without truly being aware of it, he stepped in line behind Gwen and Suzie to follow their fearless leader.

To Ianto's slight chagrin, the two female officers had chosen to sit in the back of the Land Rover, leaving him with no option but to sit beside Jack, who started the engine even before Ianto had closed the door. One glance at Gwen's smirk in the rear-view mirror confirmed Ianto's suspicion that she had purposely placed him there, and he ensured that she could see him roll his eyes.

"Come on, Toshiko" Jack murmured under his breath, loud enough for Ianto to hear. The breathy plea was enough to prove to Ianto that Jack was scared as hell about what havoc George could potentially wreak on the city around them, and fresh wave of his own worry swept through him.

"We could always drive around and ask potential witnesses if they've seen him" Suzie said dryly, cutting through the thick atmosphere.

"What, 'excuse me, have you seen a blowfish driving a Ford Cortina'? That'd go down well with the general populous" Ianto replied, finding comfort in sarcasm. Jack ignored them, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel, before the radio crackled to life and the Captain grabbed the mouthpiece.

"_Jack_?"

"Toshiko – you got a trace?"

"_Yep. The car's in motion, bombing down Lloyd George Avenue north-east, right now_."

"Thanks, Tosh. Keep us updated" Jack replied, before slamming the speaker back into place and dropping the handbrake, the hefty vehicle lurching forward with a roar as Jack mercilessly squeezed the accelerator.

Unused to Jack's driving during a pursuit, Ianto braced his hands against the dashboard while attempting to ignore the way his left shoulder slammed against the window at every turn. He was disconcerted to see in the rear-view mirror that neither Gwen nor Suzie seemed anywhere near so violently affected as he was, and he had to wonder whether experience had forged a different centre of balance, for them.

Ianto took the opportunity of some relative quiet, interrupted only by Toshiko's crackling instructions, to think back on the day. He could not longer say that he was sure he'd closed that door, as the evidence was clearly stacked against him and caused doubt to swell in his mind, but one thing he was certain of was that he wasn't cut out for Torchwood. He'd been so confident that he was doing the right thing in stopping Jack from blaming the blowfish for proof-less crimes, had felt so unjustifiably victorious in getting the Captain to do things _his_ way, and he'd been wrong. Again. Ianto Jones was not used to being wrong in his professional life, and it stung.

A heavy melancholy forced him to sink deeper into his seat. How could he remain part of Jack's team, when he was so vastly inexperienced in what they did and had put people at risk? How could he leave, when staying was his only chance of returning to 2011? Perhaps Jack would want rid of him anyway, retract his promise of help, after today. Ianto was entirely sure, seeing the way he had spoken to George and the things the fish had said in the Hub, that Jack could be unwaveringly ruthless when he wanted to. Ianto could end up abandoned in 1973 without even the one shred of hope to which he was still clinging with an anguished desperation.

"BLOWFISH!" Gwen shouted from behind him, her arm flying through the gap between the front seats to point to the left. Ianto mentally shook himself in an attempt to climb back into DI Jones mode (though the disguise was currently wearing very thin), and sure enough he saw the flash of the Cortina ahead of them, tyres protesting a sharp turn in the direction Gwen had indicated.

"We've got him now" Jack stated in a low voice, and as they spun around the same corner, Ianto saw why – the road was a dead-end, lined with closed factories and topped by what appeared to be little more than a static caravan operating as a grotty-looking café. The Cortina screeched to a halt fifty feet or so ahead of them, and Ianto watched helplessly as George leapt out of it, dashing into the building.

The force with which Jack slammed his foot on the brake winded Ianto briefly, before the sounds of two gunshots in quick succession spurred him on to tumble out of the Land Rover with the others.

"Gun, Jones" Jack reminded him in a hiss, and Ianto fumbled for the pistol tucked into his waistband, feeling a sickening sense of unease even as he chastised himself for it. _Jesus, Ianto, how many times have you been in the field? How many criminals have you had to subdue with either the sight or the action of a gun? Even the first time, you didn't so much as quiver... why now?_

Shoving his way into the café behind his team-mates, Ianto surreptitiously wiped the sweat of discomposure from his brow and tried to maintain control of his stomach when he caught sight of a young woman in a floral apron bleeding onto the chequered floor. Gwen was the first to reach her, immediately pressing down on the messy chest wound, drawing a gurgle of pain from the victim. After a quick sweep around the place, Ianto ascertained that the café was mercifully lacking in patrons, and that the woman must have been cleaning the tables when George stormed in, judging by the handful of jay cloths that lay abandoned beside her. Where the other gunshot had been aimed, Ianto didn't yet know. His priority was the fish-man standing just a few feet directly in front of him, his gun pressed against another young female's temple as he glared at the three members of Torchwood surrounding him. Ianto was closely flanked by Jack and Suzie at either side, and yet he felt horribly exposed.

"Let her go, George. This is between us" Jack said in a low, deceptively soft voice. The fish hissed as it faced him, the whimper from his captive suggesting that his grip on her had tightened.

"No. This is between _all_ aliens and _all_ humans" George replied. "You, _you_ are supposed to be Earth's representatives for us... but I know all about Torchwood, Captain. I know it all. And I know about _you_."

"That's enough" Jacks growled, cocking his Webley with a threatening _click_, but George appeared unfazed.

"Do _they_ know about you, Jack? Your little team? Do they know about your blood-drenched past? You've destroyed the lives of aliens and humans alike, I suppose... at least you're indiscriminate in the worlds you shatter."

Ianto heard no further response from Jack, but the briefest of glances to his left showed the intensity of the anger that had every muscle in his face tense and twitching.

"The rest of them... your little foot soldiers..." George's gaze spun to Suzie, a nauseating smirk on his face; "I wonder just how like you they've become. I wonder how much they're itching to add another name to their list of murders, so they can be just like their hero. Do you get a bonus for every kill you perform?"

Ianto held his breath, waiting for the shot, but it didn't come. Suzie hadn't moved an inch, but her quickened breath was audible now, destroying any hope he'd had that she was the calm one in this.

"No? Well..." George's eyes then fell on him, those blackened orbs narrowing as he smirked. "That leaves me with the police officer of the future who can't even hold his gun straight."

Ianto inwardly cursed, his two-handed grip tightening even as his palms slid sweatily against the weapon between them.

"You need to get out of Torchwood, boy, because it chews you up and leaves you for dead" the blowfish continued, his tone suddenly serious. Frighteningly so. The smirk had dropped, and the emotion in George's eyes was almost palpable, before his grimace returned and he bared needle-like teeth once more.

"Perhaps you can make your Captain proud just once, before then" he stated, before yanking his captive by her throat so that their heads swapped places.

"But what if you kill her?" he taunted, swapping again and bobbing like a moving target, drawing a gasp of terror from the young girl's lips as tears dripped freely down her face. "What if I kill her first?"

Ianto lifted his gun slightly, feeling the slow, uncomfortable slide of sweat falling from beneath his hairline. His natural confidence in his own skill had crash-landed to the ground, and he was unsure whether he could even hit the blowfish if he was standing against the wall with a target painted across his chest.

"Can you shoot before I do?"

Ianto sucked in a breath, unsure when his lungs had given up the fight and stopped automatically inflating.

"_Dare_ you" George whispered, pressing his face against the young woman's, watching her squirm.

"Will you?"

Ianto concentrated on breathing, trying to force his slick fingers to steady as he took aim.

"_Won't you_?"

Ianto's eyes widened as realisation suddenly hit: George _wanted_ to die, because to be murdered by Torchwood in a dirty little café, tension and chaos around him, was better to him than execution as a prisoner within the Hub. He would be a martyr to his people, acting out of desperation, a forerunner in the plight against alien oppression. A hero.

And George's deepest wish was granted, when a single bullet from Jack's vintage pistol split his delicate skull.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Profound apologies, lovelies! Work is BEYOND hectic lately (it already was, but we're painfully short-staffed as well right now), and sadly I was never going to get something decent written for last week. I'm trying to get back into the swing of the story now, however. Fingers crossed. You get this chapter a day early, at least. I think Jack and Ianto need to release some tension... don't you?

Epic love to everybody who read and reviewed chapter 19, and especially to **riftintime** for offering much-needed advice.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>

Ianto could only stare dumbly on, tucking away his gun in a daze, as his colleagues worked around him. The quiet, efficient buzz of activity was punctuated by Jack's occasional barked order towards Suzie or Gwen – never Ianto – and he found himself trailing behind. He was dimly aware of the presence of an aged couple crying behind the counter – presumably the owners of the café and relatives of the young woman who had been hastily patched up by Gwen – and whispers between the team of something called B67. Ianto didn't have the emotional strength to question the fact that Gwen and Suzie were left handing comforting glasses of water to the couple and waiting for the ambulance to arrive, while he himself was wordlessly prompted to follow Jack, who once again was sporting an alien corpse across his shoulders.

The silence which befell the journey home was stiflingly thick, and Ianto rolled down the passenger window a little – christ, how he suddenly, achingly missed the simplicity of a button – simply to let in the sounds of the town around them and take the edge off the chasmic tension in the car.

* * *

><p>On their arrival at the Hub, which was silent but for quiet mutterings between Owen and Toshiko, Jack's only words to Ianto were a growled order to write the day's report while he himself carried George towards the medical bay. Ianto lingered around the stairs before mentally shaking himself down and settling at his computer, assuming that he was to type said report, but realising before his fingers hit the keys that he had no idea of the format the official reports took. In a move that was blessedly distracting, Ianto decided to work his way into the shared file area (with the aid of the passwords which Gwen had allowed him to write in his notepad), and drew up some past write-ups for comparison. He found himself sucked swiftly into each story he skimmed through, each reading like worryingly believable sci-fi.<p>

By the time Suzie and Gwen returned – presumably with the Cortina – Ianto was deep into his report, having gleaned enough idea of the basic set-up. He barely registered the sympathetic smile Gwen flashed him, clinging to the monotonous focus of paperwork. Besides, it was probably better for everybody if he kept his head down for at least the rest of the day. If Jack didn't knock it right off his shoulders before then, just for fun.

"How's the autopsy going?" he heard Suzie ask loud enough for everybody to hear, and Ianto looked up across the Hub for the first time since he had chained himself to his desk. Owen and Toshiko were each standing at the top of the steps which led down to the medical bay, both wearing disposable aprons and gloves – both smeared with blood. _Well, look at that... even giant alien blowfish are red inside._

"Where's Jack?" Owen enquired in place of an answer; "he's going to want to hear this."

Ianto's eyes swivelled towards the Captain's office, which had been oddly silent since the man in question slipped from public view well over an hour ago. In his limited experience, Jack's presence in his office often meant as much noise as if Jack was in the main Hub, but now, the windows were obscured by blinds and not even the sounds of cursing and/or a slamming telephone receiver could be heard.

Toshiko, it seemed, was the only member of the team brave enough to knock on Jack's door. Ianto – along with everybody else – watched as she ducked her head into the darkened office briefly before pulling back, Jack following her closely with a hardened expression on his face. Ianto was startled to note that he seemed to have aged several years in the space of a day, and he had to ponder on the truth of the poisonous words George had spouted.

"What is it?" he asked the gathered group (Ianto excluded; he remained at his desk, while the _real_ Team Torchwood gathered around the railing) in a low voice, arms crossing slowly over his chest.

"First of all, it turns out George had an internal radar of sorts – possibly a common accessory for his race, possibly something he picked up as a rogue planet-hopper" Owen shrugged. "Anyway, it was basically beaming information about Earth all over the bloody shop, so Tosh severed the link. Who knows what they could have been using all that bumf for."

"Good" Jack replied, his expression cracking only slightly with... pride, perhaps? It was difficult to tell. "Anything else?"

Ianto was surprised when Toshiko and Owen's eyes flicked towards him at the same time, just briefly, before they each faced Jack once more.

"Yes, actually" Toshiko began, seeming to draw herself up a little taller. "The blowfish had this lodged in its gills..."

She produced a silver device, ovoid and glittering with tiny green lights. Unable to help himself, Ianto stood, moving silently towards his team-mates with his eyes locked firmly on the flashing item.

"We thought it was maybe a communications unit, or some sort of EMP device, to begin with" she explained.

"So what is it?" Jack asked, his tone impatient. With that, Toshiko strode away from the group, and Ianto tracked her with his eyes as she approached the door to the interrogation room. Slipping inside, she shut herself in without a backwards glance, and silence fell.

"Wait for it" Owen quietly said, and a moment later, there was the sound of a lock sliding noisily free moments before Toshiko re-emerged. She held the device aloft, and shrugged.

"It's a lock-pick" she stated simply. "It emits a series of low-level magnetic vibrations to open any standard lock."

Ianto felt all the breath in his lungs leave him in a rush, a weight lifting gratefully from his mind.

"He escaped the interrogation room himself, Jack. This is nobody's fault" Owen stated, just in case the message hadn't got through. Ianto risked a glance at Jack, finding the man's expression wide-eyed and thunderous.

"He should have been checked and scanned when he came in" the Captain said after a long pause, forcing the words through gritted teeth. "Who was in charge of the body search?"

"You were, Jack... remember?" Toshiko said, her voice soft and wary.

Ianto wondered if it were possible to choke on pure tension, as it enveloped the team where they stood. He stopped looking at Jack, discomfited by the sight of stubborn denial warring with guilt-sodden logic (which he himself was so familiar with lately), and broke the silence by turning on his heel and retrieving his suit jacket.

"Does anybody know which hospital the waitress has been taken to?" he asked aloud, straightening his lapels.

"St. Teilo's, sweetheart" Gwen replied with a weak smile. Ianto nodded his thanks.

"I'm going to visit her" he said, not waiting for a response. The echo of his shoes on the steel stairwell reverberated from the walls, amplifying the surrounding silence by comparison – a glaring metaphor for how he was so obviously apart from the rest of the team, despite Toshiko and Owen taking the time to prove Jack wrong about the locked door – and he felt he could only breathe properly once one ground level again.

Ianto found the Cortina parked at the front of the police station, looking irritatingly like it hadn't moved all afternoon. As Ianto lowered himself into the driver's seat, the light scent of rotting seafood rose once more and merged hideously with the stink of sewage still clinging to the cuffs of his trousers. Fighting through the urge to fling open the door and vomit across the car park, purging himself of the day's fear and guilt and sweat-soaked panic, Ianto simply and efficiently rolled down the windows and switched on the ignition.

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><p>St. Teilo's was placed precisely where Ianto remembered it to be; a fact which filled him with a bittersweet longing for his past – the world's future – and all that he might have missed by now. With a flash of his ID and a few well-placed questions, it wasn't difficult to locate the young victim. According to the matron, the pressure Gwen had maintained on her wound was enough so that she didn't bleed to death, but not enough that she didn't require being admitted to intensive care. Ianto mentally braced himself as he entered the young woman's private room, but was soothed to see her looking peaceful, despite the twin tubes protruding from her nostrils.<p>

Ianto stepped closer to peer at the chart clipped to the foot of her bed – _Cerys Fletcher_ – before he shuffled back to lean against the wall, watching the laboured rise and fall of her ribcage as he thought back the day's newest developments. The fact that he wasn't responsible for George's escape lost all sense of moral victory when pitted against a young woman fighting for her life. It seemed petty to have remained concerned about that, even after the image of her bleeding across the floor was burned into his mind. Similarly, he found himself unable to even persecute Jack for not checking the prisoner thoroughly, when nothing could alter the facts. Ianto supposed he wouldn't be blamed if he _did_ choose to scorn Jack under the circumstances, but it was with a weighty resignation that he realised he didn't even want to. He was just _too tired_.

Leaning against the stark white wall, the scent of disinfectant hanging in the air and the insistent, life-affirming beep of hospital equipment surrounding him, Ianto wondered if he could sink any lower than this without simply fading away. The desire to stay strong, to remain focussed on staying close to Torchwood in order to return home had waned until it was little more than the memory of warmth for what was once a burning flame. There were only so many walls a man could force his way through, Ianto thought, before simply giving up. And the young woman fighting for her life before him, threatened directly by an extraterrestrial being who Torchwood – the supposed experts – had failed to stop, was a wall he couldn't see himself scaling with any kind of ease. He had no place in 1973, whatever the Tarot Girl or Gwen Cooper or even Jack Harkness said. It was startling how a location that, on the face of it, he knew so well could feel so utterly _wrong_.

Ianto couldn't tell how much time had passed before the door creaked slowly open, as if tentative, and a man in a long blue-grey coat stepped in. Ianto might have reacted with a little more surprise if he hadn't been able to smell Jack's aftershave before the Captain had even reached for the handle, but as it was, he kept his eyes on Cerys' bed, fists firmly lodged in his pockets. Almost immediately the air became strenuous to breathe, neither man moving, until Jack broke the spell by stepping forward to place a wilting bunch of roses at Cerys' feet.

Ianto watched as the Captain stood there for a few moments, his hands behind his back and feet spread wide, broad shoulders pushed back in a gesture of strength and heroism which was betrayed only by the way his head hung low and loose.

"I suppose I owe you an apology" Jack said, his voice low and soft and strangely intimate, spine visibly sagging as he spoke.

"She might appreciate it more once she's awake" Ianto stated with a long sigh, thinking that the poor girl deserved a great deal more than just an apology, when Jack's head turned until his profile was visible, eyes heavy-lidded and mouth down-turned.

"I wasn't talking to her" he murmured.

"There's no need."

Ianto had to wonder why those three words were his initial response when yes, Jack owed him an apology, and yes, he'd in essence accused Ianto of leaving open a door which led to an alien escaping and causing harm not only to the team, but to the public... and yes, Ianto should have been damn grateful for the fact that Jack was being so gracious as to admit when he was wrong. But it simply wasn't important any more. Not even a little bit.

Jack spun around to face him, the movement so sharp and quick Ianto almost jumped, and the Captain's eyes narrowed to slits.

"The passive-aggressive look doesn't suit you."

A previously-quelled anger rose up in Ianto, lingering in his chest, tight and hot.

"I don't want to hear your apologies, _Captain_" he replied, the words clipped and determined. "I'm not here to assuage your guilt."

Ianto was surprised to see Jack reel almost as if struck, before stepping swiftly into Ianto's personal space.

"I'm getting really tired of you talking down to me from the moral high-ground" he growled, breath hot against Ianto's skin.

"I've got more right to do so than you ever will, if what the blowfish said was true" Ianto retorted, too irritated to watch his mouth any longer.

"You know nothing about me."

"I know enough. I know that if I stay here, if I listen to you apologise and just keep plodding on, this is going to happen again and again. You're never going to trust me, I'm never going to trust you, and this whole situation? Torchwood? Aliens? It's _insanity_, Jack. I'm done."

Ianto's chest burned, and he realised that he was struggling to breathe. Claustrophobia set in – he needed air. He shoved against Jack's chest with his forearm, putting a little space between them, and before he could register Jack's raised fist, his head was snapping to the side with the impact of broad knuckles across his jaw. Pain flared brightly where their skin had connected, and he stumbled, staring at Jack in shock. The Captain smirked at him, stepping back with his arms spread in an invitation that Ianto – suddenly thrumming with adrenaline – was loathe to resist. So he didn't.

The cathartic effect of thumping Jack's smug face and watching him crumple to the floor was profoundly intense, and some of the tightness in his lungs finally disbanded as Ianto shook out his satisfyingly throbbing knuckles.

Jack sat up on the floor and swiped one hand messily across his mouth, before grinning, wide and devious.

"That's more like it", he muttered, and when he made a lunge for the younger man's knees, Ianto almost laughed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Notes**: Evening, all! It's that time again. Big thanks to all who are still reading, reviewing, and enjoying. Just to warn you all, I'm off on holiday soon (to Cardiff, in fact!), so when I said that normal service was resuming... that may have been a bit optimistic of me. Just so you know.

Special thanks to **riftintime** for ensuring it all makes sense.

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>

Ianto Jones was not a fighting man. He'd been fully trained in hand-to-hand, of course, and those skills had been required from time to time, but it was not an inclination he generally felt. He wasn't somebody for whom physical violence was a passion that required feeding; in fact, he considered it a relatively base response, and would always choose words over fists. Yet, something about physically butting heads with Jack Harkness sent fire through his blood in a way which little else ever had.

And it appeared the feeling was mutual, as Jack's indomitable grin remained through every hit and every shove, and he actually _cackled_ when he crashed through the flimsy chair that sat haphazardly in the corner of the room. Ianto took a moment to swipe at the blood which trickled from his own nose, pain flaring hot and strong at various points on his face and torso even as raw strength pulsed through him. He had Jack in a head-lock by the time the matron finally bustled into Cerys' room, demanding to know what on Earth was going on, prompting the two men to scrabble for their ID cards and flash them at the woman without a word. With a stern warning to at least keep away from the patient's bed, the matron left, though clearly unwilling, moments before Jack kicked Ianto's legs from under him.

* * *

><p>It was quite some time before Ianto felt fought-out enough to end it. Sparring with Jack and revelling in an aggression which the Captain only encouraged soothed him in a completely unexpected manner, substantially calming a little of the injustice-fuelled rage which had been boiling beneath his surface for days (was it only <em>days<em>?). Jack, too, seemed to lose his steam at the same time, falling gracelessly onto his backside with a grunt and staying there as Ianto slid down the wall alongside him. The ever-tolerant Cerys remained still, comatose, peaceful. Her lack of reaction after the chaos was almost comical.

Ianto's arse hit the floor with a soft thump and his lower back protested, forcing a soft groan from his lips. There was a rustling next to him, and then Jack was handing him a worn-looking hip flask. Dazed and aching, Ianto took it, and drank deeply without caring what he'd been given. The burn of something brutally strong scorched his throat, but he swallowed convulsively until Jack's hovering hand appeared to take it back. Ianto watched as the man next to him finished off the fiery liquid, and they each sighed almost simultaneously.

"I love this planet" Jack said, his voice low and hoarse, hair unusually ruffled and cheeks flushed from exertion. "Its mess, its noise... but maybe there's such a thing as going too far to protect it."

Ianto remained silent, thinking about that statement in relation to what George had said. Perhaps Jack's ruthlessness had cost other races – and indeed humans – too much, on occasion. Perhaps Jack wasn't as pleased with himself as he generally appeared to be.

"Doctors say she's off the critical list" Jack continued, nodding towards Cerys and folding his arms across his chest, stretched-out legs locked at the ankles.

"Have I served my purpose yet, Jack?" Ianto asked, the words spilling from him before he could ponder stopping them. He was so weary, bruised, he'd made too many mistakes. There was a sense of finality about the day as evening drew near, though he was fooling himself in thinking he had a choice regarding his future. "Do you want me out, now?"

"Are you joking? You're on clean-up duty, after all this."

Ianto narrowed his eyes at Jack. His tone was irritatingly jovial, and Ianto hadn't the first clue how to make any of this better.

"I only know one way to police."

"No, you don't. You're just too busy trying to prove Torchwood wrong to broaden your mind."

Ianto opened his mouth to protest, to spit back a retort and release a little of the familiar annoyance which always seemed to flare when in Jack's company for longer than a minute, but found no words forthcoming. There was no point in defending himself against the truth.

"But then, I've been pretty damn inflexible too" Jack added, tone contrite, and Ianto remembered the conversation in his flat which was far too similar. They were moving in an infinite downward spiral.

"Is this how you always train your recruits? Do you just throw us all in at the deep end and hope for the best?" Ianto asked, eyes fixed on the flickering light near Cerys' head which made her fair hair glow as if a halo.

"My team found _me_" Jack replied. "All of them were touched by some form of extraterrestrial force, which brought them to Torchwood's attention. All of them have had something special, some spark that sets them apart from the rest of humanity... enough to make me reveal one of the world's best-kept secrets and invite them to join the most elite team in the world. Believe me, I've had thousands of opportunities to increase my workforce, with the amount of people who are exposed to alien life every day – but I only pick the best."

"Your standards must be slipping. You wanted _me_ on the team, if I recall correctly."

"What, you think you're the only one who's made mistakes?" Jack laughed, grinning with blood-stained teeth when Ianto turned to stare at him. "Owen let loose an alien banshee who deafened twenty-three people in his first week. Gwen released a sentient sex gas from a meteor which turned a bunch of men to dust on her first _day_. Toshiko once almost caused the entire country to collapse in on itself by accidentally typing a destructive pass code into an archaic alien typewriter... the list goes on and on. You're probably top of the class, Jones."

"You're a more lenient boss than I thought" Ianto replied quietly, reeling a little over the fact that these threats to humanity had been occurring under normal people's noses for years, and wondering what remained of Torchwood in 2011. Perhaps it was still here, led by an elderly Jack, still in his outdated coat. The thought almost made him smile.

"Not lenient; just secure in my choice of friends" Jack stated with determination, and Ianto was surprised by the concept of Jack seeing him as a friend. "You throw up a lot of question marks for me, Ianto Jones. You've never been easy to work out. The rest of the team... discovering the existence of aliens almost broke them, all of them, and I built them back up. I know them better than I know myself. But you... you're altogether different. You need guidance and support that I've never really offered."

Ianto remained silent for a long moment, breaking down Jack's words. That Jack appeared to still _want_ him as part of Torchwood – enough to imply that they should spend more time together in order to train Ianto more fully – was baffling. The sincerity in his voice was such that Ianto couldn't even accuse him of simply being unnecessarily charitable to a lost soul, and frankly, that didn't seem like Jack's style anyway. But regardless of Jack's strange acceptance of him and their entwined list of mistakes, he wasn't sure whether he himself had the strength to keep _trying_.

"She's not giving up" Jack said, nodding towards Cerys before turning again to Ianto; "neither should you."

Jack shoved himself to his feet, seeming to struggle with his own weight, before he held a hand down to Ianto with an expectant expression.

"Come with me."

* * *

><p>It was dusk when Ianto found himself leaning against the highest edge of the Pierhead Building's clock tower. Above, the final clinging shimmers of red faded from the sky, and he watched as stars peered through shifting clouds. Jack's coat flapped against his leg, and the Captain sighed deeply beside him.<p>

"You said that I don't trust you, Ianto. That's not it" he murmured, around them only distant voices and the low whistle of wind to be heard. "It's that you make me question my instincts. I don't like that."

"What, those instincts about me being a useful addition to the team?" Ianto asked, going for ironic but sounding only exhausted, even to himself.

"Instincts about myself, about my work, about who I thought you were..." Jack trailed off, his eyes sliding towards Ianto. "I thought it would be simpler than this. But I guess it makes sense that you'd be an awkward one, if you're not a fixed point."

A fixed point. _You are not a fixed point._

The Tarot Girl's voice repeated Jack's words in Ianto's mind, and he turned to the other man with a frown.

"I've heard that phrase before. In a dream" he replied, suddenly feeling the same sense of disorientation that he always felt _within_ the dream.

"Who said it? Was in a little girl wearing a cloak? Long hair? Looks half dead?"

Ianto gaped at Jack, stunned by his accuracy.

"Uhh... yes... and she shows me tarot cards" he said, in a daze.

"That's not a dream, Ianto. Faith is real. She appears and disappears at will and it's almost impossible to track her down when you actually need her, but she's real."

Ianto's denial of the facts crashed down around him with the insight that Jack knew all about his mysterious visitor. And from the sounds of it, he'd met her too.

"She talked to me about you" Jack continued, appearing disturbingly casual while Ianto reeled. "About your path not being fixed."

"But what does that _mean_?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't believe in fate anyway, but if it exists, I guess it means you don't have one. There's nothing set in stone, for you."

"Wonderful" Ianto sighed, rubbing at his forehead with the heel of his palm and idly trying to work out when he last ate. "I just _love_ uncertainty."

"Hey, it's more exciting that way" Jack replied, adding a wink, and the comment reminded Ianto of something else Faith had said.

"She told me she only knew of two others like me..." he said slowly, watching understanding dawn on Jack's face.

"Yeah. One of them is me" he stated, expression sobering. "She told me that a long time ago, when I first wound up in Cardiff."

"Where were you before?" Ianto asked, secrecy warring with honesty in Jack's eyes.

"All over the place" he finally replied. "I was... what's called a Time Agent, in the fifty-first century. Went rogue. I travelled the galaxies long before I ever visited Earth. I don't know how long I'll be here."

Jack's expression turned wistful, and he tilted his head to stare up at the sky. It was the most Ianto had ever heard Jack speak about his past, about who he was, and it was incredible to him that Jack had just imparted more personal information to him than he'd done for his loyal team – assuming what they'd said regarding not knowing a thing about him was true. To think that Jack was from _that_ far in the future, that time-travel was presumably as mundane to him as walking to the post office... as much as Jack wound him up, as much grief as he'd caused Ianto, the younger man still felt for him. The Captain appeared to actively encourage misjudgements about himself, but Ianto only had himself to blame for repeatedly falling for it.

"Torchwood has changed a lot over the years" Jack continued, still star-gazing. "In the beginning, it was all about The Empire. Keeping Britain great. Anything alien or supernatural was a threat to be eradicated. It remained that way for years, with branches in London and Scotland, and they had the same idea. The motto was '_if it's alien, it's ours_'... but when I became the leader of Torchwood Cardiff, I changed it. We gave aliens fair trial, we _learned_ from them, and violence was a last resort. But in the last few years, somehow, I've... lost my way."

Jack knotted his fingers together, and Ianto was stunned to see Jack truly insecure. His eyes dropped from the sky and focussed on the empty pavement below them, and he looked as if he regretted every word he'd let slip.

"You've been down there too long" Ianto said, eyes trailing the hard line of Jack's profile. "You've forgotten what it's like to be..." he trailed off, remembering what Jack had revealed about his past.

"Human?" Jack finished for him, cracking a smile. "I _am_ human, Ianto. Not technically from Earth, but still human."

Ianto huffed out a soft laugh. "Maybe while what you're doing is centuries ahead of the rest of the world, life _around_ Torchwood is moving at its own pace and you're not keeping an eye on its direction. You've become detached. All of you, to various extents."

Jack was silent for a long moment, seeming to absorb what Ianto had said, before giving an almost imperceptible nod.

"So are you still up to the challenge of reeling us in, do you think?"

Ianto's stomach clenched uncomfortably at the thought of simply carrying on while there was miles of potential for missions to go wrong over and over if he and Jack couldn't play well together, but maybe... maybe the Captain deserved the benefit of the doubt, after all he had deigned to reveal tonight. Ianto liked to think that it would be the final time he would put himself through trying to be part of Team Torchwood, but without it, there was nothing else. Nobody who could understand his plight, nobody who could help him return home... he had to stay, regardless.

Jack didn't wait for an answer, straightening up at last and sweeping his tongue over the split in his lip, removing any lingering traces of fresh blood.

"Hungry?" he asked suddenly, louder than Ianto was expecting, as he drew himself to full height in a way that was conspicuously tentative, his fresh bruises obviously causing him pain in the chill air.

"Starving" Ianto replied, following closely as Jack stepped away from the ledge. How Jack even got permission to just saunter up tall buildings, Ianto didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Let's get chips" Jack suggested, yanking open the door to the stairwell and motioning for Ianto to step through first, his smile turning mischievous. "And you can tell me about that twenty-first century girlfriend of yours. Lisa, isn't it?"

Ianto stilled briefly before remembering that Jack had read his initial notebook entries about the transition from 2011 to 1973, and to his own surprise, he found himself smiling.

"Sounds like a deal."

"Is she hot?" he heard Jack ask from behind him, and Ianto couldn't help but chuckle even as he rolled his eyes.

"Wait around for, say, twenty-four years, and you can see for yourself" he replied, warmed by the sound of Jack's laughter filling the space around them.


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Notes**: You know, I love you guys _so much _that I just got out of my lovely warm bed having realised, as I was about to drift off, that I hadn't uploaded the new chapter yet - so here I am, posting it for you, in the middle of the night. How nice am I?

Thanks so much for last week's reviews (which I haven't replied to yet because I'm a waste of space), and epic thanks as always to **riftintime**for making this nonsense legible. As I forewarned last week, I am going on holiday in Cardiff later this week, but since it's Torchwood's home (and I could possibly be convinced to post a link to all the photos we'll undoubtedly take), I'm hoping I'll be forgiven if there's no new chapter this weekend.

On another note, with all this faff about the untimely destruction of FFnet, I was wondering if anybody had an AO3 invite going spare that they might wish to donate?

TTFN, lovelies.

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><p>To say that Ianto found it comforting to talk about his life in 2011 was a severe understatement. To say that he found it heart-achingly difficult was equally true.<p>

The emotions he woke with the following morning were new, the pain fresher while his soul was soothed. Torn between such diametric feelings, he nevertheless felt lighter as he drew himself up from his bed and prepared for the day. The previous evening with Jack had been enlightening to say the least. The Captain had insisted on paying for a mountain of chips from a local café (wrapped in actual newspaper, Ianto was oddly touched to note), before leading Ianto towards what he recognised as Bute Park. That, at least, hadn't changed enormously.

After lining his stomach a little, Ianto had opened his mouth and began to talk. Not in the same way that he had opened up to Gwen several times in short bursts, knowing that she would sympathise, but in a way that he knew would be _listened _to, without strings. Jack did, thankfully, only nod along for the most part, strolling alongside him before they sat down on a rickety bench together, saved from the nip in the air by their deep-fried dinner.

Jack spoke only to prompt Ianto when his words faltered, and to reassure him that the rift monitor was on twenty-four hour alert for that negative spike which could send Ianto home. He also offered a gentle reminder that it might take some time. The rift was almost entirely unpredictable. It could happen tomorrow; it could happen ten years in the future.

"It could happen never" Ianto had added, finishing the sentence at its inevitable conclusion. Jack simply shrugged, and Ianto was grateful for the lack of sentimental platitudes. Beneath the bravado, Jack was a plain and simple man, Ianto was beginning to realise. Not black and white by any means, but honest, deep down. Deep, _deep_ down, he emphasised to himself when the thought struck. Jack even told him a few outrageous – yet undoubtedly true – time-travel tales from his own past career, and Ianto was grateful for the opportunity to laugh.

Releasing a fair few of his thoughts, memories, and concerns had been just as cathartic as the fist fight they had shared, though without the lasting marks that Ianto dabbed tenderly at with a cold, damp cloth after his morning shave. He found, however, that the discomfort didn't bother him, wearing the marks almost as a badge when eventually he strode into the Hub, his colleagues smiling knowingly in greeting.

Immediately, the work space felt different. At first, Ianto assumed that the feel of the place had changed simply as a result of his own shift in outlook, but as the day rolled by and he was clasped to Torchwood's bosom in a startlingly intimate way, he realised that making mistakes had made his colleagues warm to him, rather than reject him. Perhaps, out of all of them, _he_ was the one who had acted the least human. The thought was humbling.

Toshiko cornered him before anybody else, inviting him politely to see her rift predictor in detail. Ianto followed, and had the technology explained to him in minute but thankfully simple detail, as he stared at what appeared to be a souped-up hospital heart monitor. One which was currently flat-lining.

"So this means there's no rift activity at all, right now?" he asked, eyeing the line.

"That's right. There's also a twenty-four hour leeway, meaning we can pick up most spikes of activity a day in advance. Not _all_ of them, of course, but with larger spikes, it generally gives us time to prepare as best we can."

"And... you invented this?" Ianto looked away from the screen for the first time to stare, astonished, into Toshiko's eyes. She blushed as if Ianto had told her something entirely mundane, like 'what pretty eyes you have', or 'your hair looks nice today'.

Toshiko nodded, a shy smile on her lips and pride in her eyes. The word 'genius' has already been tossed about regarding this woman many times since Ianto arrived, but it was as if he was only now realising how magnificent she truly was.

"It's brilliant" was all he could say, and her smile shone.

Gwen was next, leading him to her computer where countless case file tabs were open and ready for Ianto do some research. As he flicked through them, Gwen proceeded to describe to him some of the types of cases they followed or were handed by the police on a regular basis, answering any questions Ianto had with an encyclopaedic knowledge. She, too, became a different person in Ianto's eyes. Certainly at the beginning, she was the only member of the team who came close to treating him like a friend, and now it was as if the wisdom she'd been dying to impart from day one has permission to tumble from her in an excitable stream.

Ianto's overdue welcome into the team was interrupted only by a casual lunch, Greek food having been collected by Owen from a restaurant in the city, before the team crammed itself into Jack's office, everybody but the Captain perched on plastic seats. Ianto mostly listened as stories were bandied about, the atmosphere relaxed and good-humoured, his colleagues unashamed of the gusto with which they ate – Jack in particular – yet he didn't feel at all left out of the proceedings. On the contrary, he was regularly prompted to join in, and found himself increasingly soothed by the inclusion.

Once the food was demolished and Jack had uncharacteristically offered to clear all of the containers and plates away, it was Owen and Suzie's turn to show off to Ianto, leading him towards the medical bay/morgue combination. Ianto had to comment that being shown x-rays, photographs, and specimens from various dead, mangled, and downright bizarre creatures _after_ lunch wasn't the finest idea timing-wise, but the half-joke seemed to dumbfound his colleagues, illustrating to Ianto a new level of just how disconnected they were from the outside world. While a part of him pitied them for it, he was all too aware of how his own life had been thoroughly consumed by policing in 2011, bleeding inevitably into his home and so often filling his every thought. It was an easy trap to slip into – particularly, he supposed, if the subject of the job was both whimsical and death-defying.

Regardless of the vaguely nauseating effect that the show-and-tell session at the morgue had upon his full stomach, Ianto felt himself as drawn into Torchwood's world as he had been with Toshiko and Gwen – even Jack the previous evening – and his complicated feelings regarded the organisation shifted. While it was undoubtedly a dangerous thing to be a part of – whether as a member of the team, an alien, or even a civilian – the work they did was extensive, and had done huge amounts of good over the years; that much was obvious. As a team, they were intensely dedicated, and loyal to one another. Ianto couldn't help but wonder if any of them had other facets to their lives aside from Torchwood. None of them had openly discussed friends, family, partners, or even pets in front of him. Perhaps they would never fully understand his longing for 2011, for home, for Lisa.

Ianto was drawn out of his reverie by some images of a badly-wounded Weevil, and he was reminded of the creature on the cells beneath their feet.

"That's her" Owen stated when Ianto enquired about the alien, tapping the photographs in Ianto's hand. "Three months ago we got a report of a group of Weevils fighting, which we took to mean fighting _humans_" he explained.

"When we got there, we discovered that it was five Weevils against one, just beating her with their bare hands" Suzie added, shaking her head. "As soon we we came towards them, they just bolted, which was just as weird as them thrashing one of their own. This one was on the verge of death. She didn't even need to be drugged to get her into the car – we brought her back to the Hub, patched her up, and have kept her here ever since. She's fed well, sleeps a lot, thrives in the cold, damp atmosphere..."

"So... she's a pet?" Ianto enquired, his nose wrinkling.

"Yeah. A six-foot, ugly-as-sin pet in a boiler-suit" Owen conceded, smirking. "Weevils are technically hermaphroditic, but Jack immediately named her 'Janet', so we've always referred to her as female."

"Of course he did" Ianto murmured, fully able to imagine it. Beginning to feel like some kind of government inspector whom everybody around was trying to impress, Ianto was unsurprised when he was soon enough summoned by Jack, who led Ianto back to his office and grinned at him from across the desk.

"I want you to be aware that you can use me as an information point if there's anything at all you need to know" Jack stated, his stance relaxed in his seat and his tone sounding like a public service announcement. "You're fully entitled to know everything Torchwood knows, so don't hesitate to ask."

His odd saccharine smile grew even wider, and Ianto was almost inclined to lean away in his seat.

"Jack, you're giving me diabetes" he replied dryly, unsure he was entirely keen on this sickly-sweet Captain.

"Enjoy it while you can – it won't last" Jack said, and with a wink, the flirtatious, borderline absurd man returned lightning-quick. Ianto wondered when the side of Jack he used to find the most irritating became the side he was the most comfortable with. He smiled back, oddly relieved.

"I do appreciate all of this. I take it you planned it?"

"No, actually. Well, I told the gang before you got in this morning that I wanted you to feel a little more welcome, more at ease amongst us, but whatever they've done today, they arranged it themselves."

Ianto frowned, wondering not for the first time why they were making such an effort for him. As much as he told himself not to be suspicious, he _was_ a detective. It was in his nature.

"Okay" he said, unsure, and Jack laughed.

"Don't look so worried!" he said with a casual wave of the hand. "No need to be so serious all the time, DI Jones. We just want to make life easier for you while you're with us, that's all. I've been... neglectful as a leader. We should have done this from the beginning."

Jack's smile faded as his voice softened, his contrition clear. Ianto's concerns dissipated once more, and he gave what he hoped was an encouraging nod.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, speaking of welcomes... drinks, tonight?"

The invitation was so casual and so _friendly_ that it startled Ianto into silence.

"What... you and me?" he asked, his frown returning.

"Well, I was thinking a team outing, really... why, do you want me to yourself?" Jack teased, dimples on full display, and Ianto rolled his eyes to hide his semi-disappointment. He'd always preferred spending time with just one or two people than a larger group, and while he didn't need Jack to babysit him, he'd relished the sense of easy companionship between the two of them the previous evening. Idly, he wondered if it would indeed be appropriate to spend more time with Jack alone outside of work. Maybe Gwen or Toshiko at some point, too.

"That depends... can you keep your hands to yourself?" he quipped, unsure where exactly that had come from. Jack seemed to delight in the reciprocal flirtation, and making him genuinely laugh was enough of a pleasure to make it worth the effort.

"Absolutely not" Jack replied, one eyebrow twitching in exaggerated invitation. The man was ridiculous.

"In which case, I'll hide behind the rest of the team, for now" Ianto said, unable to hold back his own grin. "I didn't realise you took time off, Jack. I was beginning to think you live here..."

Jack's response was merely a casual, one-shouldered shrug, and Ianto felt his eyes widen with the realisation that Jack _did_ live here. Or at least, nearby.

"Where?" he asked, simply.

Jack inclined his head left towards the wall, where a large bolted hatch interrupted the brickwork. Ianto had assumed it was a storage vault of some kind, or simply a souvenir from before the Hub was a secret alien-hunting organisation.

"I have quarters in there. It's all I need" Jack stated with a nod. "I have to be close to the action at all times."

His expression closed up momentarily, and with all his training and detective's intuition, Ianto caught the slip. But as quick as it occurred, it was gone once more.

"But for tonight" Jack continued, tugging at his pale blue shirt sleeve to reveal the ubiquitous leather wrist strap, "any alerts will be sent to this baby. I wouldn't take the risk if there was anything on the rift predictor, but it should be smooth sailing for the next day or so."

"I can't believe you just said that aloud" Ianto replied with a groan, shaking his head. "You're just _asking_ for trouble."

Jack pushed himself up from his chair, and positively _beamed_.

"It's what I do best, Detective Inspector."


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note**: Hey kids - d'you miss me?

Cardiff was incredible, obviously. My BFF and I had way too much fun, and yes, we visited every interesting Whovian filming location imaginable, because it just had to be done. If I ever work out how to get the photos from my phone (they're not registering on the MicroSD card when I plug it into the laptop - if anybody can offer advice, I'd be most grateful), I'll post a link where any interested parties can see them.

For now... have a new chapter. Go on; spoil yourselves. Massive thanks, as always, to all my readers and reviewers, and especially to **riftintime** for all of the feedback and support.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>

As it transpired, 'drinks' turned out to be dinner and wine in a surprisingly intimate atmosphere – at least, as intimate as it could be between six people whose lives revolved almost exclusively around work. Ianto drank slowly but ate more heartily than he had in longer than he could remember, relishing good, hand-cooked food, even as he was humorously hen-pecked by Jack to finish his vegetables.

Team Torchwood involved Ianto in every single conversation, until he was torn between being enormously touched, and longing for the focus to shift. He wasn't used to such attention, and he didn't particularly welcome it; a simple balance between this and his previous invisibility would do nicely, but he couldn't fault them for trying.

Jack was, surprisingly, the quietest, his elbow regularly nudging against Ianto's as they were wedged into the innermost curve of the shared booth. The Captain rarely glanced at him, but he made his presence and support known with the casual brush of their bodies every so often. It seemed so _natural_ now, despite the relative suddenness of the change in mood – natural that they should be spending the evening at a restaurant like normal work colleagues, friendly and welcoming in a way that they'd taken great pains to _not_ be for so long. With a start, and against his better judgement, Ianto realised that he'd already forgiven them.

It was gone midnight when Jack's wrist strap started its intrusive beep, halting the laughter-tinged conversation which echoed across the restaurant since all other patrons had left (Ianto half-suspected that Jack had used his influence and/or charm to keep the place open just for them). The Captain put down his glass of water – he hadn't touched a drop of anything stronger – and flipped open the leather cover.

"Rift activity in Bute Park" he reported, his voice switching to professional mode, though the disappointment in his tone was clear. "Something's come through. We'd better check it out."

Owen groaned loudly. "Can we at least finish our drinks, please?" he whined.

"Sure. Take ten seconds" Jack replied, and Ianto smirked. With the exception of Jack, he was undoubtedly the most sober of them all, and it amused him to see the normally alert and energetic group looking lethargic and slightly tipsy.

"Come on, kids. Back into the car."

* * *

><p>One thing that Ianto was truly grateful for, and a kindness he would continue to take advantage of, was that the passenger seat had somehow become <em>his<em> seat, meaning that he didn't have to attempt to crush into the crowded back seat or, worse, the boot. Owen was currently crouched within the latter, swaying dangerously with each corner turned, while Toshiko, Gwen, and Suzie subtly elbowed each other to gain a breath of air between them. All was quiet as Jack directed them quickly and efficiently to the park, aided by the silent roads, until he stopped the Land Rover on a grass verge, signifying that they had arrived.

The doors swung open and everybody climbed out, some swaying more than others, and Ianto followed the Captain as they awaited orders.

"Okay, this one is unspecified rift activity" Jack stated, beginning to drag weapons out from the boot while Owen shakily stepped down onto the road. "Meaning we can't predict what it might be, and the monitor didn't pick it up. No clues on this one, so stick together, and be vigilant."

Jack appeared to direct his speech towards Owen, who looked more than a little green.

"You want to monitor from the car?" Jack asked him, Ianto surprised by the semi-tenderness in his voice, and Owen nodded.

"Please, Jack" he replied, re-opening one of the back doors. Jack shook his head, his expression fond, and Owen flashed a lopsided smile at their boss. It was strange, seeing a glimpse of their deeper relationship, however briefly. For a moment, it was almost father-and-son, though Jack couldn't be more than six or seven years older than Owen.

"The rest of you, make sure you're fully armed" Jack continued, the emotional shutters falling back into place. "Ianto..."

"Yes, sir" the younger man replied, raising his eyebrows when two objects were held up in front of his face.

"Pistol, or E.S.W.?"

Ianto frowned, his eyes flitting between the two weapons.

"E.S.W.? What's... oh, electroshock weapon?"

"Yep. Why, what do you call it?"

"Personally, I lean towards 'stun gun'."

Jack's solemn expression suddenly split into laughter.

"Stun gun... I like that" he said, nodding with approval. "Mind if I use it?"

"Not at all" Ianto replied, taking the device from Jack and watching as the older man tossed the pistol back into the boot. Despite the stun gun's distinctly less destructive abilities in an emergency situation, Ianto felt confident with his choice as he weighed it up in his hands.

The group moved as one into the darkened park, the weak illumination of moonlight broken further by the stretched-out shadows of trees.

"Usual formation" Jack whispered, and Ianto became aware of shuffling as his team-mates altered their positions.

"What's the usual formation?" he enquired aloud, quickly recovering even as he almost lost his footing on a muddy patch of earth.

"It varies" he heard Suzie reply, and rolled his eyes despite knowing that nobody could see his face. Of course their 'usual formation' would be anything but _usual_.

Another series of beeps, but not the same tone as Jack's wrist strap, which meant that one of the team – Toshiko, Ianto assumed – was attempting to track whatever they were looking for.

"Temporal energy approximately eighty-three yards north-west of our current position" Ianto heard her say.

"Organic?" Jack asked.

"Very. And moving" came the grim reply.

"Okay. We're going to approach whatever it is from all sides. Split up, gang. Jones, you're with me."

Ianto heard that same obedient scuttling, Torchwood's shadows moving all around him, as Jack reached out to him and pulled Ianto more tightly against his side.

"No heroics" he whispered in Ianto's ear, breath hot and damp. "That's my department. Just back me up and take in the process. A practical induction is the best kind."

_And how exactly am I meant to take anything in when it's almost pitch back? _Ianto wanted to grumble, but then Jack was breaking into a jog, and Ianto had no choice but to follow.

Despite himself, Ianto began to feel the thrum of adrenaline as they worked their way towards whatever had slipped through the rift as a unit, his steps falling in time with Jack's. If he squinted, he could see the faint green glow of Toshiko's tracking device across the park, closing in from the other side.

"Stop, stop" Jack hissed, halting suddenly and pressing his flat palm to Ianto's sternum.

"What is it?" Ianto replied, gaining no reply as Jack indicated that Ianto stay behind him, and slowing his pace to what could only be described as a _sneak_. The trees were thicker here, the moon dappling the ground beneath their branches, and if Ianto hadn't been looking for it, he wouldn't have seen it – something glossy-skulled, neatly folded, with two – no, three – comically vast eyes glowing in its completely flat face. It appeared to be shivering, swathed in blankets. It looked pathetic, and Ianto couldn't help but feel for it, his mind already flicking through pages of new knowledge in order to place its visage.

"Oh, come on" Jack suddenly said, voice obnoxiously loud as he straightened up. "What's this, amateur dramatics? You guys _know_ the lost-and-distressed look doesn't work on me."

Ianto frowned at Jack, realising that Suzie had finally switched on a torch and was swinging it across the scene, specifically aiming between the cringing creature and Jack's face.

"Err, Jack, is it really wise to go down this path again?" Gwen asked, tone laced with anxiety.

Jack made a dismissive sound, placing his hands on his hips as he glared down at the alien which now appeared to be hyperventilating.

"I _know_ you lot can work your way home when you get lost like this, which means you must want something. And frankly, whatever it is, the answer's no, so I think it's time to scuttle off."

The creature on the ground cocked its head, and suddenly, terrifyingly, Ianto recognised it from his joint research with Gwen. _Shit._

"Jack-" he began in a warning tone, but it was too late – in a flash, the alien had shed its tatty robes, raised itself to its full whippet-thin seven foot, and lunged at Jack. The Captain crumpled immediately, his hands coming up to shove uselessly at the creature's skull, and Ianto saw his advantage. Stepping into the scene with more than a little of the easy control which was slowly returning to him, Ianto pressed his stun gun to the back of the alien's ridged neck, and pulled the trigger. The rest of the team, who had been busy pointing their guns and shouting unheard threats, halted all sound and movement at once as the offender atop Jack spasmed and then collapsed like it was little more than a house of cards.

Stepping back, Ianto allowed Jack the space to shove the alien out of the way and struggle to his feet. The heavy silence was broken only by Suzie letting out a low whistle of approval, flashing the torch up to the vicinity of Ianto's face as she did.

"Nice one, Jones" she stated, and Ianto almost preened at receiving an actual compliment on his work. Jack let out a heavy breath as he finally made it to his feet, giving the alien a prod with his boot for good measure, before fishing what looked to be a highly modified walkie-talkie out of his coat pocket, and switching it on.

"Owen? Come find us in the car. We got it" was all he said, clicking the device off.

"We?" Ianto repeated, unable to resist the urge to tease.

"I had it under control" Jack replied with a twitch of one eyebrow.

"You think so?" Ianto responded, matching Jack's arrogant expression with one of his own, much neglected for many years. "Looked pretty vicious. Is that blood?"

Ianto frowned at a dark smear on the side of Jack's throat which hadn't been there before, but with the torch in use elsewhere as Suzie, Toshiko, and Gwen attempted to fold the alien's body into a more transportable position, it could simply have been mud.

Jack's hand immediately went up to his neck and ghosted over the spot, before he tugged his shirt collar more tightly over it to conceal the mark.

"Had worse from shaving" he stated with a shrug. Ianto narrowed his eyes at the conspicuous display of macho denial, and redirected his attention back to the spindly mass curled upon the ground. He could hear the Land Rover approaching, its rumble almost deafening in the otherwise silence, and still feeling flush with success, Ianto made a final observation.

"Looks like a Vintha to me."

Jack raised both eyebrows, obviously impressed, and one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile as he gave Ianto an all-over appraising glance.

"You've done your homework" he stated, his silhouette suddenly illuminated by the headlights approaching him from behind. Jack cut an impressive figure, but it was becoming increasingly obvious to Ianto as he saw new, fresh layers every time Jack opened up to him, how much of it was an act. How much was a desperation to hold everything together, all the time. Though he couldn't see Jack's face with the light source behind him, Ianto knew that Jack was staring back into his own lit face; a moment which was only broken by Owen – who had apparently sobered up – shouting "oi, come and help us shove it in the boot, I'm freezing my arse off out here! Bad enough that I have to sit next to the sodding thing all the way back..."

His complaints trailed off and Jack spun away, taking the bulk of the Vintha's weight as it was stored before climbing quickly into the driver's seat. This time, he waited until Ianto was next to him before starting the engine.

"Okay, guys – the night's not over yet. Work to do. Let's go."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Notes**: I know, dudes, I'm a day late. I cannot possibly express how busy real life is right now and how little computer time I get, but the important thing is, I GOT IT DONE.

Massive thanks to all my readers, reviewers, and particularly the ultra-talented **riftintime**.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>

"So now what?"

Ianto watched Jack, awaiting answers, as the Captain stared at the still-unconscious body of the Vintha, now firmly secured to a chair in the interrogation room. Cuffing its spindly, delicate limbs had clearly been tricky, and as such Ianto had stayed clear out of the way, watching with interest from the bottom of the steps. The challenging work had tiny beads of sweat clinging to Jack's brow and upper lip, and the man took his time in answering, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow and taking a few deep breaths which caused his red braces to strain against his chest.

"Now, we wait. When it's awake, we question it. _I _question it" Jack clarified.

"You've come across this race more than once, I'm guessing" Ianto said, tracing Jack with his eyes as the older man brushed past him and jogged up the stairs, Ianto following.

"Oh yeah" Jack replied, following the words with a short huff of laughter. Ianto closed the interrogation room door behind them, making a slight show of slamming it loudly enough for everybody to hear the click of the lock.

"And it didn't end well" Ianto continued. A statement, not a question. He afforded himself a slight smirk when Jack looked abashed.

"We've had our disagreements" Jack conceded, a few soft snorts of incredulous laughter erupting from the teammates dotted around the Hub. Ianto's smile widened when Jack blatantly pretended he hadn't heard them. "They're trouble, always have been. I've no time for them. That 'pity-me' display in the park? Bull. Pathological liars, the lot of them."

"You do go out of your way to taunt them, Jack" Toshiko delicately pointed out, pausing her keyboard-tapping for just a moment.

"Yeah, well, they deserve it" Jack replied, somewhat childishly in Ianto's opinion. "They've threatened to kill me and my team more times than I can count. I'm hardly going to welcome them to the planet. _Again_."

"They're always going to think of Torchwood as the ones who used a mind-probe on what was essentially their version of a Prime Minister" Gwen pointed out, her tone grim.

"_Mind-probe_? Is that exactly what it sounds like?" Ianto asked, inwardly wincing.

"Worse" Suzie stated with a solemn nod.

"Hey, is it my fault that their species has extremely high blood pressure?" Jack replied, hands raised.

"No, but I'm willing to bet their heads don't explode that easily on a daily basis." Owen added.

Ianto's mouth fell open, horrified. Jack simply shrugged.

"Live and learn" was his blithe response, flapping a hand carelessly. "Let's see if our skinny friend is up for a chat."

* * *

><p>It was, in fact, another hour before the Vintha was awake, during which time Ianto took the opportunity to read the species' file more thoroughly. It was one of the more detailed reports, confirming Jack's complaint that Torchwood had run into them several times,the file including both drawings and photographs from which Ianto had recognised it in the woods. Torchwood discovered early on that the race had been studying Earth for centuries, as a child might study an insect, and they both spoke and understood all Earth languages. He had to wonder if they'd ever tried to converse with somebody from the wilds of North Wales; <em>that<em> would be the only true test, in Ianto's opinion.

Ianto also read more about how generally dangerous they were, with poison-tipped darts which they were able to release at high velocity from their ribcages, and immense strength which they would exercise at every opportunity. It appeared that during their first visit to the Torchwood cells, the captured Vintha was offered food by one of the more kindly operatives, and the alien responded by punching a gaping hole through his chest. The file went on to say that the Vintha was swiftly 'dispatched', and the later collisions between their race and Torchwood were not much smoother. Ianto found himself curious as to why they would keep returning to Earth, or if they fell through a crack in time and could climb back out as Jack suggested, why this particular Vintha hadn't already done so. He couldn't help but wonder whether it was nothing more than a trap, and suddenly the idea of Jack interrogating the alien alone made Ianto feel uneasy.

Soon enough, the grainy video feed from the interrogation room which streamed to Toshiko's computer showed the Vintha stirring, struggling against its many bonds and eventually resigning itself to captivity. Jack looked immediately ready to take it on, apparently indefatigable while the rest of the team – Ianto included – was clearly flagging in the late hour.

"I'm going in" Jack announced, almost gleefully, and Ianto grasped his upper arm tightly before even knowing what he was going to say.

"Be careful" he found himself saying, idiotic as it had to sound to a man who laughed at danger on a daily basis. But Jack surprised him by smiling softly and replying "I will", patting Ianto's hand and slipping through the interrogation room door.

Ianto immediately returned to his place behind Toshiko's seat, his police officer's instincts on high alert and preparing for the first sign of trouble.

"Can we get audio on this?" he asked, pleased when Toshiko hummed in the affirmative and an overhead speaker crackled to life.

"_So... just us, in this room, for as long as it takes"_ Ianto heard Jack say to the alien, standing opposite it with his arms crossed and his feet apart. The Hero Stance. Ianto rolled his eyes.

For the following half an hour, Jack seemed to flit between Good Cop and Bad Cop on his own, and like any sensible captive the Vintha gave absolutely nothing away. Jack threw around accusations and past grievances, whilst trying to sweet-talk the alien into responding. Ianto swiftly realised that however long Jack had been interacting with other species, and however good he was (or had been) at his job, the Captain simply wasn't trained for this. Charm, Jack could certainly work with, but seeing him struggle to extract information from a species he had previous unpleasant dealings with was like watching a flightless bird trying to take off, his prejudice towards the alien showing with his mounting frustration at its silence. Jack's attempts to make it talk eventually became funny, with Ianto and the rest of the team no longer hiding their soft snorts of amusement.

Jack eventually emerged with a face like thunder, marching towards his team and glaring at the alien on the screen. Ianto smirked, shifting aside so that Jack could more effectively shoot daggers at the creature with his eyes.

"_Just us... in this room... for as long as it takes_" Ianto mimicked, keeping his own eyes on the computer and fighting the width of his own smile. "Terrifying" he stated dryly. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Jack turned to look at him, his expression clearing a little.

"Really?" he asked, his tone hopeful.

"Absolutely. Shivers down my spine" Ianto insisted, turning to face the Captain and biting down hard on the insides of his cheeks in an attempt to remain straight-faced.

"You don't look scared" Jack said, raising an eyebrow. Toshiko snorted, leaning further over her keyboard. Jack didn't seem to notice.

"Oh... it... passed" Ianto replied with all the nonchalance he could muster, finally breaking when Jack realised he'd been teasing and made a half-hearted attempt to threaten him with a shaking fist and a growl low in his throat. Ianto laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls and surprising even him with its tone of freedom. _I must have burst through the other side of exhaustion and into hysteria_, he told himself.

"I can't get anything from it" Jack announced, pacing the floor, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. "It won't respond. I vote for the mind probe. It's worth a second try, right?"

"No, Jack" Gwen replied, arms folded as she spun in her seat towards the Captain.

"I'll clean it up myself-"

"NO!" the rest of Ianto's colleagues shouted in unison, causing Jack to raise his hands in supplication.

"Just a suggestion" he mumbled.

"Let me talk to it" Ianto offered, schooling his expression into something more solemn. "This is what I'm trained in, Jack, and it doesn't know me as a Torchwood operative. Let me try."

Jack gave him a long, appraising look, folding his arms as he did, and finally nodded.

"Fine, but if there's any trouble, get out of there immediately. Don't think twice. Agreed?"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

><p>Sitting opposite the bound creature, even knowing that it was strapped to its seat with leather and metal and there was very little chance of it breaking free, Ianto couldn't help but be intimidated. In the park, a rush of adrenaline in the face of Jack's impending death had been what fuelled him to step over the Vintha and electrocute it. Now, looking into its three blank, glossy eyes with no hint of how to possibly exercise his psychological training, Ianto was struck by how... <em>alien<em> it looked. While George had had the visage (and indeed the smell) of something part-fish, his general shape had been humanoid, and therefore easier to confront. Sitting three feet from the Vintha... Ianto had no idea what to do.

"You are not... of this time" the creature stated, its voice low and thick and sounding almost doubled over, as if in stereo. Ianto tried not to show his surprise that the Vintha's mouth – if it even had a mouth – hadn't moved. The voice seemed not to derive from anywhere specifically, but to flood the space between them. The least surprising thing, in fact, was that the creature could sense his time displacement.

"No. I'm guessing I'm not the only one" Ianto replied, keeping his tone conversational.

"Time is inconsequential to my people, but Earth is certainly primitive, to us" the alien replied, its vast eyes appearing to sweep the room before settling once more upon Ianto. "Why are you here?"

Ianto found himself taken aback by the question, one that had been constantly on his mind since he landed in 1973, but had become less prevalent since his bonding with Jack and the team. A fresh wave of guilt swept through him; guilt at finding an acceptance he had secretly craved, guilt at perhaps finding friendships, guilt at losing sight of his home... his time... his Lisa.

"I don't know" he replied honestly, the irony of the situation – the Vintha interrogating _him_ – not lost on Ianto.

"It seems... somewhat careless" the creature replied, its tone undeniably wry. _Well, there's something for the species file; 'practices sarcasm'._

"Let me ask you the same question; what are you looking for here on Earth? Captain Harkness suggested that you would know how to return home even if you had come here accidentally."

"Your Captain is a murderer and cares not for what we need" the Vintha replied, hanging its bizarrely smooth head.

"_I _care" Ianto stated truthfully. "I give you my word that you're under my protection, and I won't let anybody harm you or other members of your species."

The alien's head rose once more and all three eyes blinked simultaneously, for the first time since Ianto had entered the room.

"You are Torchwood."

"I'm a police officer from 2011" Ianto corrected the creature, "I know precious little about Torchwood, but I can promise you that the institute's position regarding your species in no way reflects my own. If you tell me what it is you're searching for on this planet, I'll do everything I can to help."

A long pause reigned, before the alien murmured, with obvious reluctance, "SiO2."

Ianto frowned in thought for a while, assuming at first that the answer was a code that Torchwood might understand while he didn't, until basic chemistry knowledge kicked in.

"Not... silicon dioxide?" he asked, taken aback.

"Yes" the Vintha immediately replied, "Earth has it in abundance, and we require it. We are prepared to trade, if necessary."

Ianto, startled by the incredibly simple request, stood up and tucked his chair neatly beneath the table that filled the space between him and their captive.

"Let me speak to the rest of the the team" he said gently, calmly, his communication training returning naturally to him. The alien inclined its head slightly, and Ianto took to the stairs with haste.

"Did you hear?" he called out as he re-entered the Hub floor, his colleagues still huddled around one monitor.

"Quartz. They want quartz, essentially" Toshiko replied, her expression suggesting that she was as surprised as Ianto.

"Which is the main ingredient in sand" Gwen pointed out.

"Something we certainly do have in abundance" Ianto added, folding his arms.

"So what's the largest desert in the world? Sahara?" Owen asked aloud.

"Nope – Antarctica, believe it or not" Jack corrected him, not taking his eyes off Toshiko's computer. "We need to ascertain how much they're after. If they want to drain the continent, it's a big fat 'no'. Otherwise, we'll do what we can to accommodate their needs."

Jack finally turned away from the alien and fixed Ianto with an expression of guarded pride.

"Nice work, Ianto" he said quietly, his smile soft.

"Thank you, Captain" Ianto replied, nodding his gratefulness.

* * *

><p>Ianto stood alongside Team Torchwood as they were once again gathered around a monitor, in Jack's office this time, awaiting the confirmation they'd been promised. A volume had been compromised with the Vintha, their explanation that quartz was a precious and dangerously rare fuel sealing the deal, on the condition that they were discreet about the taking of it, and that they checked in with Torchwood before leaving. The Vintha ship had been orbiting the planet while the one member of their species was sent to Earth – specifically, Earth's foremost alien experts – to strike up a deal, its survival instincts kicking in once there. The notoriety of Jack Harkness had proven a little much for the creature, and before they released it back to its own ship, it had (to everybody's surprise) apologised profusely for attacking Jack. Jack had responded by not only refusing any form of trade, but offering the Vintha a list of other SiO2-rich planets.<p>

Now, they watched on a flickering black and green screen for the encoded communication to arrive, and when it did, the entire team sagged with relief.

"Thank fuck" Owen sighed. "About time something went right for us. It's been a bloody while."

"And they've included an extra message" Toshiko stated, untucking her glasses from the front of her blouse and sliding them onto her nose. "_We are indebted to Torchwood_" she read aloud, a smile spreading across her face, "_Consider us allies."_

Ianto grinned, unable to stop himself. "It actually _did_ work" he said, incredulous. "Wow."

"Thanks to you" Jack added, and Ianto felt a weight across his shoulders, the Captain's hand firmly rubbing his upper arm. "Didn't I tell you we needed you?"

Ianto turned his head to look back at him, finding a knowing smile on Jack's face. It was true; he'd orchestrated most of the dealings with the Vintha by himself, and reached a successful conclusion which would potentially serve Torchwood well in the future. Perhaps he'd finally done something right. Perhaps he was on the way to finding his purpose in 1973.

_Well... that was unexpected, _he thought.


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Notes**: Ahoy-hoy! Some lovely responses after last week's chapter, guys. I'm building up steam for this, once again, and the feedback helps more than you can imagine. Keep it coming.

Oh, apparently you can't post a link even by typing out the dots and dashes in or out of brackets, which is a) bollocks, b) pointless, and c) really annoying. So I'm not sure how I can share the link to my Cardiff photos with anyone who's interested. Ideas?

Massive thanks to **riftintime **for calling me out on my nonsense.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>

For Ianto, an increasing acceptance into Team Torchwood came accompanied by various unavoidable consequences.

Firstly, the unusual sensation of his own company being enjoyed by more than one or two people at any point. Oh, Ianto was _liked, _and always had been, but only by those who, over the years, had been willing enough to give him a chance to express himself. Being a natural introvert, Ianto was not somebody who felt the urge to fill up silence with unnecessary words, and generally spoke only if he had something of worth to say. For that reason, many people who had been immediately drawn to him (either because they were simply friendly or because they appreciated what had been termed his 'boyish good looks') had peeled off swiftly, and Ianto had maintained the same few, strong friendships from his teenage years long into adulthood.

Similarly at work, his single close attachment remained Lisa, with Rupesh arguably being a friend as well as a valued colleague, while his other co-workers remained acquaintances with whom Ianto found it difficult to engage in small talk. It was almost disconcerting, then, that Team Torchwood put such effort into making him feel liked and appreciated, no matter how sudden that transition. Some, Ianto felt closer to than others – Jack, Gwen, and Toshiko being the ones he found easiest to talk to, and who actively sought him out to include him as part of the team – but he found himself considering all of them in high regard, so soon after loathing almost all of them. That, in itself, was alien.

The other main consequence was that with Ianto's continuing feeling of relative calm and acceptance, came the emotion of missing his 2011 life all the more. Days rolled by with a swiftness that was startling, considering how endless his first week in 1973 had been, settling into a few rift-free research days and a surprising amount of socialising with the team outside of the Hub. A cycle formed: Ianto would spend the day at work, become part of Torchwood for ten or eleven hours, then become part of a group of misfits who lived every day as if it might be their last in some pub or restaurant or another, and enjoy himself far more than he thought possible under the circumstances. Then, he would return to the flat, and lie awake for a handful of hours, crushed under the weight of a guilt that only enveloped him when alone. _What kind of person became so distracted by their sudden and initially unwelcome surroundings that they could now go hours without thinking of their former life? Of their partner and their old friends? Why is needing to return home no longer my only constant thought?_

Oh, Ianto wanted to go home. He _longed_ for it, for the normality of policing London, the security of his personal relationships, for mobile phones and laptops and a branch of Costa Coffee in every town. Every familiar street corner in Cardiff circa 1973 was a painful reminder of his past/future life.

But Torchwood... Torchwood was entirely unexpected, and unexplainable. Ianto had spoken to Gwen several days after the Vintha had left, eating ham salad sandwiches at her desk as she recalled how she came across the organisation. As a young WPC, she had witnessed a strange and unnamed group of people question a man who minutes previously had been dead. She went on to explain that her memories thereafter were patchy thanks to the stealthy administering of B67 by Jack (leading her to tell Ianto exactly what B67 _was_, leaving him unsurprised that an amnesia pill existed, and wondering why Jack had never simply lost patience with him and drugged him with it), but that before she knew it, she was part of it. It had simply... happened.

Ianto fully recognised the sense of thrill and romance which Gwen described regarding her initial days at Torchwood. He felt it now, with the shock and the horror mostly disbanded and the revelation upon revelation finally sinking in. Helping the Vintha had filled Ianto with more pride than he knew what to do with, and the confirmation he required that Torchwood could do good. Ianto had since been filled in on other similar instances of serving the intergalactic community, and genuinely, honest-to-god _saving the world_. He was no longer horrified by the concept of Torchwood; rather, in awe of it.

And as soon as that thought became more immediately prevalent than his plight of returning to 2011, the insomnia returned.

* * *

><p>He was already awake, the next time Faith materialised in the flat. There was no sudden light, no fanfare – just the very sudden presence of a little girl dressed in her usual funereal garb, settling down on the edge of the bed. Ianto finished scribbling down his stream of consciousness in his notebook, before laying it aside and meeting her gaze.<p>

"It is late" she said, her tone amusingly motherly.

"Past your bed time, I imagine" Ianto retorted, offering a humourless smile.

"Rule one of Torchwood, and one which your Captain flagrantly ignores: do not patronise supernatural beings, no matter what form they take" Faith replied, one eyebrow raised unnaturally high.

"Sorry" Ianto said, chastised. "I'm tired. Obviously."

"What troubles you?" the little girl asked, surprising Ianto with her sincerity.

"Extended temporal jet-lag, I suppose you could call it" he replied with a sigh, raking his fingers through his hair. "Making the best of things has lost its edge, lately."

"You are coping" the girl stated, "you shall continue to cope. Great change lies ahead, for you."

"You said my future isn't decided" Ianto argued, unable to bring himself to use the word 'fate'.

"It is not, but I am able to foresee some shift."

"I might be going home?" Ianto asked, awash with sudden emotions, the most prominent being sheer _relief_.

"I cannot say" Faith replied, and though the response was predictable, Ianto couldn't help being disappointed.

"You are close to the Captain, are you not?" she asked, and Ianto frowned. It was odd to think of how much he had hated Jack, and how recent their camaraderie was. Beyond their working relationship, Ianto truly liked Jack as a person, having been offered the pleasure of seeing below the thick skin and bravado. Jack made an effort to be open with him, even when he clearly wasn't sure whether he should be, and Ianto appreciated that trust. It made him want to reciprocate, and he quite often did, now. He had grossly misjudged the man for the longest time – though in hindsight, he was certain that Jack encouraged the misjudgement – and he continued to regret that he had used the man as the sole blame for all his troubles. Yet, he supposed they could indeed be called _close, _comparatively at least. He simply nodded.

"Let him comfort you in this. He is far away from his own time; he knows how it feels."

"He told me. The fifty-first century" Ianto murmured, astonished all over again by the concept.

"The two of you some connection. I see it" Faith said with a nod. "Speak with him."

"Yep" Ianto replied non-committally, wondering how he could possibly express his maelstrom of thoughts and feelings in words, even to Jack, with whom it was increasingly easy to speak. "By the way, the last two times you visited, I fell asleep as soon as you finished talking... as if you were _making_ me fall asleep..."

Faith smirked knowingly. "Yes, that was me. To make you think that I had been little more than the conscience of your dreaming self. I understand that the Captain has revealed the truth, since then."

"He did, yeah. To be honest... I was wondering if you could do it again, for me" Ianto said, feeling a little awkward about the request, but desperate enough for sleep to ask. The idea of hashing out a few of his concerns with Jack was strangely soothing in itself, the man having become somewhat of a confidant, and relief swept through Ianto when his eyelids suddenly began to droop.

"Though I may not know your future yet, I have faith that you will find your peace, Ianto Jones" a soft voice told him, and he vaguely realised that he was lying down with his eyes closed. _Huh. When did that happen?_

"Take care in your decisions" were the last words Ianto heard, but he was no longer listening, surrendering himself instead to dark, blissful oblivion.

* * *

><p>"Okay guys, you need to turn right down Glossop Road" Suzie's voice crackled down the radio, Jack immediately making a sweeping arc with the steering wheel that had Ianto bracing his palms against the dashboard.<p>

"Christ, steady on!" he gasped, glaring at Jack.

"No time for steady, Detective Inspector" Jack replied, his eyes alight with the thrill of the chase. The rift's lull had finally been broken with the news of sightings of a creature the size and general shape of an ocelot, with metallic blue fur, that was ripping the hubcaps off cars with its teeth. After gathering all the information from the police and conducting an in-depth scan, they had located the alien, and Jack and Ianto were in the Land Rover even before Toshiko had gathered the exact co-ordinates.

"There! Stop there. It looks like its rooting around in the bins on Planet Street" Suzie informed them, and the car screeched to a halt.

"How appropriate" Ianto murmured, getting out of the car and throwing open the boot. "Have you got nets?" he asked, as Jack emerged next to him and hauled up the lid of the weapon-storage compartment. He grabbed two hand-held devices which Ianto recognised as net-shooting guns, plus a tranquilliser pistol, and a stun gun. Ianto raised an eyebrow at his excessive preparation.

"You never know" Jack explained with a shrug, while Ianto tucked the stun gun into his belt and kept a tight hold on the net-shooter. "Let's go."

The two stalked their way slowly down the quiet road, Ianto able to hear faint rattling as they approached the metal rubbish cans which lined the edges of gardens. It was still odd to Ianto that the bins weren't yet made of plastic – and, more irritatingly for him as somebody who considered himself reasonably green, that nobody recycled – but the hard echo of the steel at least made it easier for them to follow the creature's scufflings.

"Stop" Jack whispered, indicating with his tranquilliser pistol towards a bin several feet away that appeared to be vibrating. Ianto raised his own weapon in readiness, and nodded to Jack, who stepped towards the bin, raised his knee, and kicked it over. The canister toppled with a loud clatter, rubbish spilling out, and something undeniably alive screeching in its descent. Ianto's pulse quickened in readiness, only to slow again almost immediately when the creature unfurled itself.

"I'm reasonably sure that's just... a cat" he said, lowering the gun and staring at the scruffy, damp, and angry-looking feline. It narrowed its eyes at him, hissed, and bolted in the opposite direction, leaving the two men staring after it.

"Well, that was anti-climactic" Jack stated dryly, disengaging the tranquilliser. "Wouldn't be the first prank the police have pulled on us, though."

"Really? They mess you about like that?" Ianto asked, surprised, bending down to straighten up the fallen bin, and kicking some of the spilled rubbish towards the edge of the kerb.

"Oh yeah" Jack replied with a humourless snort. "You've no idea. Once, they rang up in a panic, telling us about Roman centurions running arou-"

Jack was halted mid-sentence as something lithe and shimmering leapt from behind the bins, knocking all of them over as it did, and embedded its teeth into his right thigh. Ianto could barely register what had happened when Jack cried out in pain, stumbling into the road, the tranquilliser gun falling to the ground with a clatter. Through his shock and concern, Ianto had to admit, the description was pretty accurate – it did indeed look like a dark blue feral cat, lanky and angular, and growling like a wolf as it clung to Jack's leg. The shine of its fur looked like petrol on water. It was quite beautiful.

"Ianto!" Jack shouted in frustration, blood beginning to visibly soak through his trousers. "Tranquillise it! NOW!"

Ianto scrambled for the fallen gun and lined up the shot, knowing that shooting it at too close a range could be dangerous.

"Don't you dare miss" Jack warned him, teeth gritted, just as Ianto tugged on the trigger and sent a dart into the back of the creature's neck. It went limp immediately, but it was a few more moments before its teeth slipped out of Jack's flesh, leaving a series of jagged holes in the fabric of his trousers. Ianto winced, thankful that the alien's teeth were small, if copious. Jack's hand went to the spot immediately, pressing down hard.

"Ahhhh... jesus" he hissed, as Ianto quickly engaged his net-shooter and caught the unconscious creature in a neat bag.

"Are you okay?" he asked Jack, turning away from the alien now that it was trapped and bending down to prise Jack's bloody hand away from his leg, huffing in annoyance when he wouldn't budge.

"Yeah, it's nothing to worry about" Jack insisted, even as fresh blood seeped from between his fingers. His eyes were guarded, just as they had been after Ianto was sure that the Vintha had wounded him. _Stubborn bastard._

"Let's go, then" Ianto said, deciding not to push it if Jack was going to pretend not to care, and grabbed the net by its opening to tie it up on itself one more time.

"There's a condom on your shoe" Jack said, his tone serious, and Ianto looked down to see a smear of transparent rubber clinging to the toe of his brogue. It must have fallen out of one of the bins.

"Oh, that is just disgusting" Ianto moaned, kicking his foot uselessly a few times in an attempt to dislodge it back towards the rest of the rubbish. Jack burst out laughing, taking the netted creature off Ianto as he limped past him, one hand still pressed to his thigh, towards the Land Rover.

"It's not funny!" Ianto called after him, forced to scrape the corner of his shoe against the kerb to remove it.

"No, it really _is_" Jack insisted, loading the alien into the boot before climbing awkwardly back into the driver's side. "Coming, Jones?" he called out of the window, and Ianto was idly plotting his revenge when a woman's voice called out behind him.

"Oi! What are you playing at? You cause all that racket, knock all our rubbish into the road, and then just bugger off? Who do you think you are?"

Ianto began planning his best, most sincere-sounding apologies and excuses as he turned, before he saw the woman... and all thought left his head. She was a hell of a lot younger than when he'd last seen her, and a great deal more coherent, but it was undeniably her... and how Ianto was still on his feet, he'd never know, as his mouth worked uselessly in an attempt to pronounce the only word in his mind:

_Mum?_


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note**: Fabulous response to last week's chapter - thank you, everyone! And I'm trying the Cardiff photos link again, with gaps: furiousdee dot tumblr dot com slash post slash 28213100509 slash cardiff-photos

MASSIVE thank you to **riftintime **for completely saving my arse with this chapter (more than usual, I mean), and of course, to all of my readers and reviewers. Especially the reviewers.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<strong>

"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf, or something?"

Ianto felt as if his body's vital motions – breathing, heart beating, eyes blinking – were moving in slow motion as he stared at the woman before him. She was a living image of the sepia-tinted photographs he'd seen of her from before he was born, when she was at her happiest and healthiest, and merely twenty-five years old, he realised. She was also, it dawned on him as his eyes scanned her apron-clad frame, five or six months pregnant... _with Rhiannon_, he thought, in awe. _That's my sister._ The thought was sobering, and offered Ianto enough clarity to grope for his badge.

"Detective Inspector... Jones" he stated, his voice hoarse as he flicked open his ID. "There's been a spate of burglaries in the area. We're, err... we're checking the rubbish for discarded weapons, masks, stolen goods... that sort of thing."

She raised an eyebrow at him, so reminiscent of his own habit that he could have sobbed. She was round-faced, like his sister had always been, grey-eyed and pale, her cheeks tinged pink. She glowed in the way that he was led to believe all pregnant women glowed, even as her stance and expression exuded wariness and disapproval.

"Sounds like a waste of police time, if you ask me" she grumbled, taking a long look at his sombre suit. "I've not heard of any crimes 'round here."

"No, well, we're trying not to worry people. We want to make sure you feel safe in your own homes" Ianto replied, the tightness in his chest throbbing at the reminder of his mother's eventual chronic paranoia.

"I do feel safe, thank you" she replied, her tone dry, flicking a wave of dark, bobbed hair away from her cheek before placing her hands firmly on her hips. Ianto fought the urge to crumple completely in the face of such a familiar childhood gesture.

"Well... uhh... we might be making further door-to-door enquiries in the area, if we deem it necessary" he replied, making a last-minute (_and potentially idiotic_, he berated himself) decision. "Would you be available for questioning during the next week?"

She narrowed her eyes, her gaze firm but wary. _Please. Let me see you again, as you once were._

"Yes, alright" she eventually replied, slowly moving backwards in the direction of a house Ianto had never known. This was long before his parents and Rhiannon had moved to Newport prior to his birth, but he hadn't realised they'd ever lived so close to the centre of Cardiff. His father had often stated that the capital was dangerous. Little did Ianto know, prior to Torchwood, that he'd been right all along.

"My husband's away on business, but I should be around" she continued, offering Ianto a nod before turning on her heel and marching back towards the nondescript terraced building.

"Thank you, ma'am" Ianto called after her, unable to tear his eyes away until she'd disappeared fully into the house.

The intrusive honk of the Land Rover's horn startled him into spinning around, and he was irritated when Jack tapped his wrist strap as if it were a watch.

"Finished flirting?" the Captain asked as Ianto slid back into the passenger seat.

"It's called civilian relations; maybe you should try it, one day."

"Ouch!" Jack exclaimed with a short laugh, switching on the ignition. "Kind've harsh, Detective Inspector."

If Jack expected an apology, Ianto wasn't prepared to give it. The image of his young, healthy mother was burnt into his mind, and he didn't have any inclination to discuss it just yet. _Could this be the reason I'm here? Can I alter her future? Can I change her life and have my mum back?_

Jack apparently tired quickly of the conversation, choosing that moment to speed away from Planet Street without questioning Ianto any further. This was _far too huge_ to discuss with anybody, even the Captain. He felt quite certain Jack would have something to say about him visiting his own family members years before he was born, and this was something he had to work out on his own.

* * *

><p>Ianto couldn't shake his daze for the remainder of the afternoon. His mother's image haunted him as if she were in the Hub itself, in every corner, her grey eyes trailing him. She had looked at him with more familiarity today than every day since he was nine or ten years old. He inadvertently tortured himself by replaying that very moment when he realised that his mum no longer recognised her only son, and he had found his sense of emotional maturity developing at an astonishing rate in response to that childhood-shattering event. She had been the youngest case of Alzheimer's in medical history, at the time. As if that was some kind of achievement to be congratulated.<p>

Owen roped him into assisting with the examination of their steel-blue pet, while the rest of the team scoured both the digital and non-digital archives for any mention of such a creature. Ianto was idly aware of Jack disappearing into his office and returning with a fresh pair of trousers on, and assumed he must have dressed the wound. The limp was gone; hopefully, he had succumbed to weakness and taken painkillers. The distinct aversion to fuss when obviously hurt was something Ianto found annoying; the blatant display of macho toughness was not remotely appealing to him, but he supposed it was all part of The Hero Mask.

Reflecting on Jack's behaviour distracted Ianto briefly, as did Suzie discovering information about the navy ocelot from 1940's Torchwood who found one in a bomb shelter, helping itself to tinned cans of corned beef (and rejecting most of the beef), but the focus of his thoughts remained. And for the first time in over a week, when his colleagues invited him out to The Hole in The Wall (the witty name they had affectionately labelled Adam's pub), he declined.

"Got somewhere else to be?" Jack asked him as he shrugged on his military coat, his tone sharp though he was smiling. The slight upwards tilt of his head suggested suspicion. Or jealousy.

"In the flat. Alone" Ianto replied, standing wearily up to leave, glancing around to confirm that the others had already left. "I'm not used to regular carousing. I need a quiet night on my own."

He was halfway to the stairwell, having neatly sidestepped Jack, when a thought occurred to him. _I could use Torchwood's database to look my mum up. See what they know about her. I was only ever told such precious little._

"Actually, thinking about it, I might stick around here for a while" Ianto coolly announced, turning back to Jack as he made up his mind. "I could keep an eye on our little blue friend, just in case it wakes up and turns out to have the ability to chew through titanium cat-boxes... and I'd still like to get a little more used to the Hub and its computer systems."

Jack flicked his coat aside from his legs in a gesture that it looked as if he'd been doing all his life, and placed his hands upon his hips.

"Are you sure you don't want some company? I could stay here, if..."

The Captain, uncharacteristically, trailed off with a certain air of awkwardness, though his stance and facial expression were the antithesis of that. Ianto actually felt a little sorry for rejecting him.

"I'd just... appreciate the quiet."

Ianto folded his arms, struck by the sudden urge to do something with his hands.

"Okay" Jack replied with a nod, sounding unconvinced by Ianto's reasoning. "Well... radio us if you need to."

"I will. Have fun."

"Yeah. You too."

With a last questioning frown, Jack was gone, his shoulder brushing Ianto's as he strode towards the stairwell. Ianto took a moment to ensure he was gone, watching him ascend and slip through the electronic door, before shrugging his jacket back off and settling at his desk. The first step was to write down everything that had happened surrounding meeting his mother in his notebook, but he found that for once, words failed him. His initial notes when arriving in 1973 were concise and as factual as possible, if littered with question marks, but how the hell was he supposed to express the fact that he had _met his twenty-five year old mother _this afternoon? Of the endless list of things that boggled the mind, it was number one – in bold, underlined, and highlighted.

In the end, it took an hour of step-by-step reflection to get it down on paper, and a further twenty minutes to pluck up the courage to type her name into Torchwood's database. Even as he did so, his throat tightened once more in response typing out her full title, and to the grainy photograph the search produced.

_Caron Jones... born in 1948, daughter of Gladys and Ioan, wife of Roderick, residence on 9 Planet Street, Cardiff... _the information was disappointingly scant, yet it confirmed her existence, here and now. That she had a life and a background and she was once a complete and functioning human being. It was all that Ianto had wished for her once he was old enough to understand her condition, but by then, of course, it was far too late.

Unfocussing his eyes – something that came easily, given his state of tiredness – Ianto returned his gaze to the single photograph and sighed, rolling his shoulders. That he would return as soon as possible to speak to her again was an irrefutable fact; what gave him pause, however, was the issue of having absolutely no clue what to say.

* * *

><p>He awoke to footsteps, hard rubber on metal, the unmistakable echo of an underground location suggesting that he was still at the Hub. The fact that his eyes were closed and appeared unwilling to re-open confirmed the vague conclusion that he'd fallen asleep at his desk. <em>Wonderful.<em>

"Hard at it, huh?" a familiar, amused voice asked, a single strong hand landing upon his shoulder and squeezing. With a sudden twist in his gut, Ianto remembered his mother's profile upon the screen, and lifted his head to check it with such speed that it left his mind spinning. To his eternal relief, the screen was blank, and he remembered that the machines shut down by themselves after two hours without use. Which also meant that it was potentially two or three in the morning.

"I _was_" Ianto lied, running his hands vigorously over his face while Jack chuckled beside him, pulling up Toshiko's seat to sit close.

"Here, thought you might be hungry" Jack said softly, handing Ianto a newspaper-wrapped package from one of the many mysterious pockets inside his coat. The smell of something deep-fried caressed Ianto's nostrils, and he couldn't help but smile through his hazy headache.

"Thank you" he replied, offering Jack a tired nod.

"It's late" the Captain said, as if Ianto couldn't have guessed. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you" Ianto countered, "you should be going home to a _home_ at night, Jack, not to Torchwood."

Half expecting Jack to bristle with offence, Ianto was surprised when Jack huffed out a laugh.

"Yeah, I know" he replied, his voice quietening further. "Call it laziness."

"I call it obsessive dedication" Ianto corrected him, "I've been there. I wouldn't be surprised if the only thing holding me back from moving into my office was Lisa."

Ianto found himself almost choking on her name, still barely able to _think_ it without being swallowed up by sorrow and guilt. Unnervingly, it was a gentler touch of Jack's hand on his shoulder which seemed to suck the worst of those emotions directly from the pit of his stomach, and Ianto turned to him, expecting a fresh insight into Jack Harkness and his well-hidden wisdom.

"Go home."

Ianto simply blinked at him, startled by the short-and-simple command.

"That was less poignant than expected" he stated, smiling again when Jack laughed.

"Yeah, well, I can't be brilliant and perceptive _all_ the time" he replied, giving Ianto's shoulder a tiny shove. "Go. Eat chips. Sleep."

Ianto stood, slipping his arms back into his jacket and picking up his still-warm cargo. Jack was looking up at him with warmth, tempered by resignation. Ianto decided to try for one more favour.

"Could I have the morning off, Jack?"

"Of course" the Captain replied without hesitation, encouraging Ianto out with a little wave of his hand. "Just get out of here, or I might change my mind."

"Thanks" Ianto said, a weak surge of pre-emptive adrenaline beginning to flow at the potential of mid-morning tea on Planet Street.

"No problem. Be good."

Ianto responded with a lazy, amicably mocking salute and turned, summoning up the energy to make his way quickly out of the building and into the Cortina. He fully expected to be tossing and turning all night with half-plans and questions, but come morning... _oh, it would be worth it to see her again._


	27. Public Service Announcement

**Author's Note:** riftintime suggested I make an update just to let my readers know what's going on, so I'm doing it in the form of a post, which I'll later delete when the story gets rolling again.

Okay, so as you can probably tell, I'm taking a break. Not by choice, really, but a combination of unpleasant factors: 1. crippling writer's block (probably caused by the following two elements), 2. a job which is currently more hellish and stressful than I can express in words (not that I'm even _allowed _to express it in words because it's bloody classified), and 3. the receipt of several messages via Tumblr from at least one blogger, who thinks it's fine to use the cloak of anonymity to throw abuse both about the quality of my writing and my 'lack of dedication' at me.

Reality check: there is a world outside fanfic in which I live. Making sure I update my silly story every week is absolutely not my number one priority, and it never should be.

So here's the deal; I have no intention of just letting go of this story. When I have the time and the ability to string together a sentence again, I will be posting once more, but I'm going to have to scrap the updating-every-Sunday idea. That only worked when I was writing J&H last year and had a Monday-Friday office job. Now, I work _every _day, so it's just not feasible. It's going to be a case of as and when I can. If that's not good enough for anybody, there are plenty of other fanfics out there.

At least, as riftintime pointed out to me, for every moron complaining via PM, there's a fair few others who are willing to be patient and continue their support when I'm able to give this a kick-start again.

Thank you.


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